


Trouble Sons 2

by Blessedskies_turning



Series: Trouble Sons [3]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mentioned suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedskies_turning/pseuds/Blessedskies_turning
Summary: The song Vincent talks about is: Lovely Day by Bill WithersOr if you want: Lovely Day by Alt J- my favorite bandhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEeaS6fuUoAhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGP93-5N72I





	1. Birthday Cake and Warning Shots

Enzo was a wild thing. When Roman first met him he was wearing a wolf head and his fitted sheet as a cape. From the start he’d been a tornado. His hair was short back then, and he looked almost dorky, his lopsided smile making matters worse. 

“Oh shit.” Was the first thing he said to Roman. Roman had just walked in the dorm, carrying a packed suitcase and a handful of paperwork. “Hi!” was the second. He said it as he promptly sat up from his bare mattress and shucked off his wolf head. It landed in a pile of his stuff next to the bed. 

“Hi.” Roman said with a tinge of judgement.    


“I'm Enzo, Abbott.” He held out a hand and smiled. Roman took it but didn't smile.    


“Roman.” He said. He looked away. The dorm was tiny, and there was a single window. Enzo had already set up some books on the sill but he must have gotten distracted because nothing else of his was unpacked yet. 

Enzo’s eyes lingered on him.    


“Where are you from?” Enzo said, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

Going to inspect one of the closets Roman muttered, “Washington.” He felt the 

sting in his gut. “You?”

Enzo chuckled. “Everywhere really.” 

It sounded like the right answer for him. 

“But if you want a real answer, it would be Nevada.” 

“Hot.” 

“What?” He sounded shocked and confused. 

Roman turned to look at him. His mouth was open and his eyebrows drew a sharp line. “Nevada, it’s hot there.” 

“Oh!” Enzo cleared his throat, “Yeah.” He was turning a nice shade of red. 

“Bit of a contrast, coming here huh.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah, a little. But I like it, it feels right I guess.” He stopped. Roman watched him. The wolf head was staring at him, the sheet waited to be put on the bed. Enzo went over to tend to them. 

They were quiet for awhile.    


“Abbott, right?” 

Enzo looked at Roman. He’d been hanging up his shirts. “Yeah.” 

Roman left out a wuff that took the place of his laugh. “Funny.” 

“What?” 

He waved him off. “Oh it’s nothing.” 

“Really, tell me.”    


“You have the same name as a famous rock star.” Roman picked at his pants. His mother had been big into music. He remembered the time she took him to his first concert. He’d been twelve. Or all the times he’d wake up to her music pouring from the kitchen, or when she’d drive and crank up the radio. Him and Vincent knew all the words. 

Now Enzo looked sad. He frowned and hung up another shirt. Watching was a little confusing. He was almost violent in his movements, and appeared to be disappointed. “What?” Roman asked because the mood had shifted so quickly. 

It was a while before he got his answer. 

“Patrick Abbott is my father.” 

Sorry felt like a proper reply, but that seemed to forced. Instead Roman just said, “Okay.” 

 

“Happyhappybirthday!happyhappybirthHEY!” 

Roman had been asleep. 

“Hey!” Enzo shook his shoulder, “Hey, wake up.” 

Roman smiled into his pillow.

“BIRTHDAY BOY, WAKE THE FUCK UP!” 

“No.” 

“Asshole, I made you breakfast.” Enzo smacked him with a pillow. “Come eat it or i'm going to.” 

Roman turned to look him in the eye. He was standing beside the bed shirtless and wearing flannel pajama pants. His hair stuck up in all different direction and his smile was wide and triumphant. He had a pillow in his hand. He was sharp in the morning light, his cheekbones and eyelashes speaking the universal language for pretty.

“Good Morning.” He said, waving the pillow in the air. 

Roman laughed and put his bed back down. “It’s like five in the morning Enz, we have school let me sleep.” 

“Yo,” Enzo said hitting him again with the pillow. He did it softly, lovingly, but all around annoying. “I made you eggs, and bacon, and pancakes and had to get up at four to do so, so get your lazy ass up and get some food birthday boy.” 

Roman reached out with his good hand and tugged enzo down onto the bed. He didn't resist but sounded irritated either way. Roman wrapped his arm around him and closed his eyes. He was warm. 

“Just five more minutes.” 

Enzo flicked him on the forehead, “It’s your birthday now. Plus I want cake and I can't have any until you do.” 

“Says who?” 

“The  _ birthday  _ rules. Gosh you are a heathen Palayo.” Enzo kissed his forehead. 

“Where did you even get all this food?” 

“Vincent has been stocking the kitchen. Good thing too because as much as I like take out, it’s not proper birthday food.” 

Roman groaned. “This,” He squeezed Enzo, “This is good birthday food.” 

“Ew.” 

“Not like that. I mean we can just sleep, no need to be up at the ass crack of dawn, we’ll just stay here.” 

“If you get up now, we’ll have time to makeout before school.” 

“We can do that after.” 

“Nope, I have work, and then you have a doctor’s appointment.” 

It had been five weeks since the car accident. Roman was getting his stitches removed today. It had been long enough. After this he would only have to go back to the hospital for his arm. It had been hell, on both of them. Roman tried to work with Enzo and his doctors but it was still hard. He hated the hospital, and he hated medication. He went on antibiotics after his surgery, and though he could have died if he didn't take them it was hard not to fight them all the way down. 

Enzo had been the one to give them to him. Roman was sitting on the couch, hands pale and shaky. There was a line of sweat above his brow. He worried the glass of water would slip out of his hand.   
“Please take it.” Enzo begged. He rubbed circles into Roman’s shoulder, “Please, I know it's hard but please.” 

Roman took the pill. He shook after, and Enzo did too. They sat on the couch and watched movies all day. Vincent called Roman and Enzo in sick to school. 

“Thank you.” Enzo said after running a hand through Roman’s sweaty hair. 

Roman couldn't talk. He felt like he was going to throw up. So he just closed his eyes and hoped he would wake up. 

That had been an everyday ordeal. 

Roman got better. He still had a sick feeling in his stomach every time, but he gritted his teeth and took them. 

“Fine,” Roman said getting up. 

Enzo leaped to his feet and thrusted his fists in the air. “And he’s up!” 

Roman smiled, and Enzo marched off downstairs. 

There was a large stack of pancakes on the counter. And a platter of bacon and 

Eggs. Enzo had produced maple syrup from some magical place and even a can of whipped cream. Roman wondered if Enzo’s actual intentions were to make him fat, but his mouth watered at the smell. It had been a while since he’d had a breakfast like this. His mother and father used to do it every Sunday. They dished up their plates, Enzo poured cups of cranberry juice because Roman hated orange. 

The sky was a dark blue outside. Birds twittered in the treetops. The world was barely wake and it was freezing. Enzo wrapped the blanket around them to keep warm.They sat on the porch and eat their food. 

It was a good breakfast. 

Roman could taste the syrup on Enzo’s lips after. 

 

Jackson Sawyer clapped him on the shoulder when he got to school.   
“You’re eighteen now.” 

Roman nodded and shoved his jacket into the locker. “Yup.” 

“How does it feel old man?” Jackson smirked at him. 

“Like I can be charged as an adult now if I get arrested. Or that I can now register to vote.”

Jackson chuckled. “You coming to the game on Friday?” 

“I don't know, depends if Enzo has work or not.” After he’d gotten arrested Enzo’s parole officer had made it abundantly clear he needed a job. The first place that hired him was a fro-yo bar. It was nice, they got free fro-yo and Enzo’s hours were few and far between meaning he technically had a job but didn't work very often.

“Man you guys do everything together don't you.” 

Jackson was a dumbass. “Yeah, we sure do.” Roman closed his locker. “See you in gym.”

“Yeah.” 

  
  


Ritter looked like she wanted to explode. 

“What's wrong?” Enzo said. 

Ritter scowled. She was holding a crumpled grocery bag, and her nylons were ripped. “This morning has been hell.” She pushed back a strand of blond hair. “First my brother’s car decides not to work, then I lost my boots, and my nylons got ripped when i was putting them on. I didn't have time to finish my Spanish homework or eat breakfast because Chris needed to get to work. I’m praying Fields does not give us a pop quiz like everyone keeps saying, or i am going to die.” 

She sighed when she was finished and rested her head on her locker. 

“You are smiling.” She pointed out with a scowl. 

“Roman’s eighteen, you might want to wish him happy birthday.” He pointed to her paper bag before she couldn't answer, “What's in there?” 

Ritter perked up. The bag was fairly small and looked a bit roughed up, she reached inside and pulled out two lottery tickets. “He told me two weeks ago his birthday was today, I bought him scratch offs and two drawing entries.” She hit Enzo on the nose with them, “When you move to Paris France and own a little country side farm fully stocked with a whole team of butlers you can thank me.” 

Something inside Enzo bloomed. It was a strange feeling but one he was getting used to. It was like when Roman had first woken up after the accident. After Enzo’s father had shown his face and terrorized them for weeks. When everything had cleared and the storm had passed and Roman was there, looking down at him. It should have been terrifying, at least Enzo thought it should have, but it was there true and pure. 

“I need to tell you something.” 

So far the only person who knew outside of Roman and Enzo about what had started 

between them was Vincent. Ritter knew about his dad, and she knew not to say anything but she didn't know about him and Roman. 

“What?” Ritter asked. She looked concerned. Rightfully so, Enzo was having trouble saying it. 

He adjusted his backpack. “Well, before the accident. And my father...” 

Ritter listened patiently. 

“Me and Roman are..” They were what, together? They had a thing? 

Ritter laughed. 

Enzo’s mouth went dry. 

“Enzo, I know about you and Roman.” 

“What? How?” 

“You’re wardrobe consists of his sweatshirts, you guys live together, and the first time i really met you, you were pouting because you two aren't getting along. If that’s not obvious then I don't know what it.”  Ritter yanked on the cord of Roman’s hoodie.   
Enzo chuckled and pushed his hair back. “You don't care do you?” 

“Ha!” She let out a full laugh. “No, i do not care. My brother is bi and i’m ace. I'm the last person the would care in this town.” 

“I just didn't know.” 

“The only thing you could do to make me not like or accept you is be into child porn or kill someone.” She paused, then added, “If you killed someone I would probably still ask you if they deserved it.” 

The bell rang up above. Enzo let out a big sigh. For some reason he felt better, it hadn't been a secret but it was nice to know. Ritter wrapped her arm around Enzo’s shoulder, they swayed down the hall. She rested her head on his shoulder. 

“Chris and I are coming over sometime to have a party. It’s what you guys deserve after all this bull crap.” 

“Amen.” 

 

 

Vincent let the smoke of his cigarette curl into the air. It burned his nose. 

It was cold out, and rain threatened the California skies. It wasn't very often that it did. Only in winter. Everything smelt dusty and like the earth. The air was damp, and mild. 

The parking lot was dim, and his car sat under a beacon of light. 

Vincent ran a hand through his hair. 

His nerve were on edge. He couldn't stop shaking. 

He took a drag. 

Another round of earthquakes washed over Vincent. This round worse than the last, it almost sent him to the sidewalk. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” A voice said behind him. It rattled his bones. Vincent took another long inhale. It burned his eyes. He let it. “Vincent i’m talking to you.” 

Vincent turned around. 

Joe stared back at him. His blue eyes were wide and glazed over. His mouth did cruel things to Vincent’s composure. 

“I'm leaving.” 

“No you are not.” 

“Yes I am.” 

Joe was short, but muscular. He had dark hair and a thin mouth. Joe wore an all black suit, which added to his square appearance. A laugh was Vincent’s only reply. 

“Goodbye Joe.” Vincent said and stepped off the curb. 

Joe howled with anger, and his eyes screamed murder. Reaching out Joe caught Vincent by the neck, he shoved him back. Vincent hit the ground. White hot pain shout all the way through his skull and blinded him a second. When he finally opened his eyes the barrel of a black gun stared down at him. 

“Goodbye Vincent.” Joe said. 

He pulled the trigger. 

Vincent woke up in his bed. Sweaty and out of breath he hobbled to the bathroom. He was gasping for air. His reflection stared back at him. 

_ Joe. _


	2. Violent Opulence

There was this picture. It was old. The edges were soft and worn. The frame would fall apart in your hands if you were not careful. The colors were yellowed from age, and the subject in the photo was a bit blurry. It wasn't that old, maybe ten years, but it had been  _ touched  _ so many times the years weighed heavy on it. 

This picture was of a women. She was elegant and sharp, a mop of long silky black hair hung around her shoulders like a cape. Her skin was smooth, her cheeks high and inviting. Her small brown eyes captured your attention like a blinking light in a dark room. She was poised on a table, leaning over it with her hand under her chin and her face turned to the side. She was a carefully cultivated woman of opulence. 

Elizabeth Palayo was a masterpiece in this picture. 

She had always been, dignified and courtly. 

Vincent traced the outline of her face like he’d done many times. “Why do you love mamma so much?” Vincent had asked his father one time. He sat on David Palayo’s knee as Elizabeth swayed in the kitchen. 

His father, a man grown in the back roads of Wyoming-which was strange in a sense because that’s all what Wyoming was, back roads- had light blonde hair and a politicians smile. He leaned down and whispered to his son, “Because she never stopped making me better. Because I am not the person I am today because i'm with her but _because_ _of_ her.” 

Vincent looked to his dad. “Why does that make you love her?” 

“You’ll see.” David patted his son on the head, “You’ll see.” 

Vincent traced the photo of his mother again. He was standing in Roman’s room, the winter skies bleak and grey. Rain pattered on the window. Holding the photo in his hand he took a step forward. The floor creaked. The sheets on Roman’s and Enzo’s bed her in a pile on the mattress. One of the pillows lay on the floor.   
Everything was quiet. 

A tune floated around inside Vincent’s mind.  _ Just one look at you And I know it’s gonna be A lovely day.  _ She used to sing that. Did Roman still know the words?

Vincent put the photo on Roman’s bed. Happy birthday Roman. 

 

Roman found the photo that night. After his doctor’s appointment. The air hung cold in the room, and Enzo was fiddling around in the bathroom across the hall. Roman had already changed into pajamas, and was getting into bed. 

He was exhausted and drained from the hospital. He had shook the entire time. And when they probed him and asked questions he had barely been able to answer. He swallowed, Enzo ran a hand down to his neck and squeezed. 

Okay. 

And then, Elizabeth was staring up at him. Her face framed in early morning light and her hand curling underneath her chin in some refined pose. 

The air was punched out of him. 

She was there again. In his mind she smiled and laughed and sang and danced and touched Roman on the forehead with the back of her hand and tugged on his shirt collar the first day of school and sat him in her lap as she read a book and let Roman sit on the counter and lick the batter off the spoon for his birthday cake. 

And she was there. In the hospital, tube down her throat and her skin pale and sweat slicked. She was there, eyes moving rapidly under the thin skin of her eyelids. So was Vincent, leaning down to Roman saying, “She isn't going to make it” and “We have to let her go” . And Roman could see he wanted to cry, but he didn't, he just held Roman’s hand. 

Roman asked, “But she’s still alive right now. She could still come back.” 

Vincent shook his head. 

And maybe Roman had been wrong, but at the time, he  _ knew _ he was right. Vincent didn't cry when it happened. 

Roman cried now. One tear fell down his cheek, he let it before wiping it away. It was okay, he’d learned to live without her. 

Enzo came into the room. His hair was being held back by a hairband, and he still wore his work shirt, the one with a little yeti monster on the front. He smiled. It was small and private, and then BOOM you could see his teeth. It framed his face nicely, and his eyes smiled along with every muscle in his mouth.   
Roman was made for that smile. 

“What?” Enzo said, breathy like he was laughing. 

Roman looked back down at the picture. He felt his lips twitch. Enzo was a exhilarating and intoxicating. The complexity of his features, the way his chin looked like it was carved from marble, the way his nosed dipped to meet his heart shaped lips and just practically begged to be kissed. Blue ignited his stare, and his eyes were framed by dark lashes and strong brows.

“Just this picture.” Roman bounced the photo in his hands. “It’s of my mom.” 

Enzo came over. “She’s pretty.” He said. 

“Yeah.” 

Enzo’s fingers hiked up Roman shirt and made little circle in the small of his back. Enzo leaned his head on Roman’s shoulder. “How long have you had this?” 

Roman stopped. Vincent. Something snarled inside him. His hands tightened on the photo. Roman knew what this was. He hadn't really spoken to Vincent since the wreck. Since everything. The last meaningful conversation between the two of them had been before Enzo was arrested. Weeks. Vincent kept trying to approach Roman, he kept trying to talk but Roman turned him down every time.    


He couldn't take it. He was angry, god was he mad.    


_ We have to let her go. _

_ She’s gone Roman! She’s never gonna come back!  _

_ I’m doing what I have to do.  _

_ Dad was messed up.  _

_ Maybe your just a selfish brat Roman! _

The drugs. The hurt. The pain. It all came rushing back now. Vincent was blind, he was a giant tromping around in the forest of Roman’s heart, unknowingly crushing all his trees. 

He wished he’d done more. He wished he’d said different things. Didn't Vincent feel like that too? 

“Vincent.” Roman said. 

Enzo removed his hand. “It’s a birthday present.” 

“No, he’s trying to kiss my ass.” Roman pushed Enzo to the side. He gripped the frame with his good hand. It was fragile but Roman couldn't see that. He stormed out, letting his bedroom door swing open. He stormed down the hallway. The door to Vincent’s room was closed. 

Roman threw it open. 

Vincent, startled, jerked from his position at his corner desk. He was wearing a sleek pair of headphones and was still in a black v-neck and jeans. He removed the headphones, “Roman-” 

“Stop.” Roman pointed the picture at him. “The fuck is this?” 

Vincent looked startled for a beat. And then something clicked. He took his headphones off all the way. “It’s your birthday present.”

Roman scoffed. 

Vincent blinked at him.    


“You bastard.” 

“What the hell did I do?” 

“Oh you know damn well.” 

Vincent stood up. He took a step, then another. His hands curled into fists. “Tell me.” 

Roman paused. 

Elizabeth. 

David.   
Mom.   
Dad. 

Vincent had not done enough for them. He was supposed to protect them. He was supposed to be there for him. But instead he shipped Roman off to Clarkston and joined a gang. He fulfilled his dreams while he left Roman to rot. He ignored what Roman was going through.    


After his mother died, after Roman  _ watched  _ his mother die he couldn't bare to think about the hospital. It made him sick. It made him  _ scared.  _ But Vincent didn't care. He joined sides with a drug dealer, and left Roman to find his father dead in the tub one day after school. He’d killed himself with prescription pills. Roman had to drag his body, fully clothed from the bathtub at age fourteen. The way his father’s water slick skin felt underneath his fingers was unforgettable. And the dryness of Vincent’s eyes at his funeral was seared into his brain. 

“You fucking asshole.” Roman said. 

He shoved the picture into Vincent’s chest. Roman ignored the crack he heard when he did. Vincent took one step back but his hands went to cradle the frame. Slamming the door behind him Roman left the room. Trying not to look into the bathroom. 

Enzo was sitting on the bed. His head was down, he fiddled with his fingers. 

Roman needed him, so he went to him. That made Roman feel a little better, knowing that if he wanted to, he could reach out and- Enzo flinched away from his hand. 

“Don't.” He said weakly. Everything stopped. “Let’s just go to bed.” He sat up, moved to his side of the bed and then got under the covers. Roman remained standing for second. He felt raw. He felt, betrayed. He felt alone and abandoned and stranded. 

“Enzo.” 

“I don't want to hear it Roman.” Enzo said from his spot underneath the covers. 

“Enzo.” 

There was a violent flash of white blankets and then Enzo was sitting up and staring at Roman. “What did I just say?” 

Enzo was supposed to be on  _ his  _ side. He wasn't supposed to like Vincent, but he kept defending him. 

He kept talking, “Roman it was a fucking present. A gift, from your brother.” 

“He’s just trying to get to me.” 

Enzo scoffed. Roman was wounded. Enzo laid back down. 

“Enzo I’m sorry.” 

“Tell that to Vincent.” 

Roman didn’t. Instead he got under the blankets and tried to fall asleep. He didn’t,  he couldn’t stop thinking of his parents. 

Enzo did not sleep either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Vincent talks about is: Lovely Day by Bill Withers  
> Or if you want: Lovely Day by Alt J- my favorite band  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEeaS6fuUoA  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGP93-5N72I


	3. My Shitty Father is Your Shitty Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry for the length, but also not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vhFnTjia_I
> 
> Also i'm begging you please listen to this song, it will play at Enzo and Roman's wedding.

The weeks passed. Days got longer and colder. Soon the trees were completely bare and ice covered the windows and doors. Sunlight was hesitant and unsure, and oftentimes only stayed for a handful of hours of the day. The brothers stopped talking again. As much as Enzo wanted them to get along and be...well brotherly, he was also glad for the lack of head butting between them. It wasn't a permanent solution but Enzo was okay with mutual understanding they seemed to have. If you could call it that. The only other fight they had was one that took place early in the morning. Roman had come down to grab something, apparently Vincent had tried to talk to him. It didn't work out and the conversation just escalated. Enzo had heard them yelling from the upstairs bedroom. He stomped downstairs and glared at them. 

Vincent shut his mouth and sat down.   
Roman acted like a wounded puppy. Enzo ignored him the rest of the day.   
It was hard. Enzo wanted to be there for Roman, he wanted to stand by him but Roman was being and idiot. And Enzo couldn't stand to see Roman like how he was when he was mad about Vincent. It scared him. To see his father in the eyes of Roman was nightmarish. It haunted him. He wanted _Roman,_ not Patrick. 

But now things had quieted down. 

Roman had gotten his cast off. That was a plus. No more constant reminder of his 

father’s handiwork and that terrible night. Vincent got the insurance claim back on the car. The Honda hadn't been worth much, it was shitty, but he pitched in a few bucks Roman didn't know about so they could get a slightly less shitty black Ford. It had fabric seats, and was still a stick shift but there was an audio jack. Enzo could play his music.   
Roman apparently didn't know if it was a plus or not. 

They were going to a football game. It was rare their season lasted this long as Football was a fall sport, but they had made it to the last qualifying teams going to the championships. The Clarkston Devils were a forced to be reckoned with -this sentiment only being held by Clarkston students at least. But they believed it with every inch of their being. Tonight they were up against The North Ridge Saints. They were decidedly Clarkson's rivals, seeing that as they were far more holy than Clarkston’s students. North Ridge was an all boys catholic school a few towns over. They had more money, better equipment and more talent. Clarkston had grit and a team of shirtless boys who performed shitty cheers for the student body. 

Cheerleaders were an essential part to highschool football games. Clarkston, having a female student body of two, did not have a cheer leading squad. But they had a rowdy and loud group of teenage boys who smeared war paint on themselves and ran around the track shouting the Clarkston war cry. _Clarkston High coming to put you in the ground! Come on Clarkston give a great big L! Clarkston High will knock you out and send you straight to hell!_ They didn't do it every week, only for big games, and boy tonight was one of those.   
The parking lot was flooded with people and cars. Roman recognized some of them, a few of the guys had foreign looking girls attached to them but mostly it was just a sea of Black and Red. Enzo, wearing Roman’s track hoodie as a show of support whooped out the window at a couple of passer bys, they whooped back. 

He was smiling ear to ear. 

Ritter leaned forward, “There! Parking! Get it Roman!” 

“GO! GO GO!” Enzo cheered him on as he smoothly pulled into a compact spot. 

They got out. 

The stands were alive, and so was Enzo. The concrete building that held rows and 

rows of bench seating was packed. It was almost as long as the field and there was little to no seating left. The back parking lot, one cut off to student use and reserved for teachers was instead filled with food carts and stations. Roman and Enzo picked their way through the seething mass of people to get to the Greek food cart. Enzo got a gyro, and Roman bought a slice of pizza from the cart next door. The senior class was selling lemonade. Roman fist bumped Jackson Sawyer at the table after purchasing his drink. Jackson was wearing red war paint on his cheeks, he was shirtless even in the cold and had black hand prints across his shoulders and chest. 

Enzo smirked at it. 

They went to find seats. The game started just as Enzo scarfed down the rest of

his food. They were sitting at the end of the stadium, the last section of seating was reserved for seniors, and the band. The playing kicked off which a loud drum roll from the band and one eventful lap made by the “cheerleaders”. The seniors had the special tradition of standing on the benches and creating a united mass of teenagers all shouting the specific cheers. Enzo got into it, hurling cheers into the crowd behind then a leading many of the chants. 

There was a sea of green below them. 

The packed crowd rose up in shouts as Tolvstad was violently shoved on the field, the whistle had already been blown and that kind of move was not aloud. The red flag went up and they were screaming their show of support again as Tolvstad kicked the ball down the field into the goal posts. The band played loudly, the seniors went up in another cheer.

“Who are we?” Enzo cried.

The seniors, including Roman rose up, “The red, the black will stand by you! Fight Clarkston high school! Let’s hear a a mighty cheer for you-o-o!” 

Roman watched Enzo. He felt the band music in his feet and the cheers rang in his head. On a united front the students railed. Roman felt himself swell with the view of Enzo, cheeks smeared with black and red. He shouted something fowl and Roman  _ smiled.  _ He felt the crackle of his energy, the beat of his heart. He was alive. He was pulsing with the drums and thrumming with the crowd. He’d had not felt like this in a long time, like he could scream his name into the night and leave behind his mark, burned into the air.

Enzo felt it too. He saw it in the languid roll of Roman’s fierce grin. It was glorious. 

alive, alive, alive. The boy dead on the pavement no longer existed, and now right now, he never could.   
“Let’s go Devils!” The crowd cheered in one menacing beat. 

He turned back and watched as a player in red dashed across a sea of green and scored another touchdown. The Saints had no chance. 

During halftime the crowd herded down to the tailgate for refreshments and food. Roman and Enzo, exhausted from the forty five minutes of cheering sat down on the bleachers. The first half ended with the score 45-25 Devil’s favor. Clarkston students were in a good mood. People mulled around them. Roman knocked his knees against Enzo’s.

Enzo watched the “cheerleaders” try and perform a dance. They were tripping over themselves. It was comical. Jackson stood in the center, his brother’s number painted over his face, he held bright pink pom poms. They were too far up to hear what he was screaming over all the other noise but he said it fiercely. The other cheerleaders tumbled over each other laughing so hard. 

Enzo’s eyes watered, he heard Roman’s howl of laughter. 

Sweet Caroline blared through the speakers. Enzo sang his heart out, “Hands! Touching Hands! REACHING OUT! TOUCHING ME, TOUCHING  _ you.”  _ He leaned in and whispered the last part into Roman’s ear. “SWEET CAROLINE! BUM BUM BUM!!! GOOD TIMES NEVER SEEMED SO GOOD. SO GOOD!!” 

He did that the entire song. Roman smiled at him. 

Roman said after a few minutes. “Do you think we should have told her?”   
Enzo was busying staring at the end of his hair. He looked up, a chunk of his curls with pinched between his fingers. “Hm?” 

Roman pursed his lips and then nodded his head towards the left. “Alexis Cole.” Enzo peered over Roman’s shoulder. Alexis was sitting on the benches between the legs of a guy. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was smiling. “Do you ever think she had a right to know. What happened-” He stopped to look at his hands. The person Enzo had seen in Roman earlier was fading. “-with your father. And the accident.” 

Drugs, dead rats, angry father’s, breaking and entering, and car crashes. Enzo didn't think he’d ever be through something like again in his life. He had his father at arms length and while he wished his father would keel over and die sometimes it was nice that he had leverage. The video, still saved to his phone and a hard drive he’d hidden incase his father ever came back sniffing for it. He didn't think he would, Patrick was smart. Though people could be dumb when they were hurt. 

“No.” Enzo said matter of factly. “Not really. From what heard she got attacked and fought back, made it out with only a couple of cuts and bruises.” 

Something in Roman shifted. He sent a quick glance over his shoulder to Alexis, she was beaming up at the dark haired man whose legs she was sitting between. “Well-” He sounded unsure, “Ritter knows, and so does Chris-” 

Enzo and Roman had met Ritter’s brother a few times. He was a tattooed chunk of meat. He had Ritter’s signature smile and quick way with words. He was tall and his blue eyes stood out like gems when he smiled. He was smart and artfull in the way he held himself.

“-and I think if we should haves told anyone it should have been her.” 

Enzo sighed. “That was only because you were MIA and she was there for me.” 

The  _ look  _ Roman gave Enzo was sad. But Enzo caught the flicker of anger underneath 

his pensive frown. He hissed softly, “Don't _say_ it like that.”   
“Like what?” 

“Like It was my choice.” Roman replied fiercely. 

Enzo replied with the same amount of force. “It  _ was. _ ”  Enzo turned away. He watched the empty field. The night Roman pressed his forehead against Enzo and told him he needed space was like a black mark on everything. Even the night of the car crash wasn't that big of a scar on their relationship. Because it was an outside force. It was Enzo’s  _ father.  _ Roman didn't even hold the drugs against Enzo. But all the time Roman spent holed up in his room or running lap after lap after lap until his lungs bled was what hurt. It was  _ Roman  _ pushing Enzo back. It was  _ Roman.  _ And while Enzo did his best not to hold it against Roman, to understand that it was Roman trying to keep Enzo safe, it had hurt then and it still hurt now. 

Roman sat with him but picked his knee up so it wasn’t touching Enzo’s. 

Distance. 

Space.   
After a few minutes Enzo said, “You’re probably right. About Alexis.” 

“Aren't I always.” 

“Don't be cocky.” 

“I thought you liked me that way.” 

Enzo gave him a good shove. He was smiling again. Without much flare Enzo stood up and walked across one of the benches to where Alexis was sitting. Enzo came to stand in front of her. She was wearing a grey zip up hoodie and graphic t-shirt. She sat up. The boy she was with had warm eyes cut into narrowed slits for Enzo. His dark hair hung loosely in his face and his mouth quirked at Enzo.    


“Hello.” Alexis said. 

Enzo smiled at her, “Can I talk to you?” 

She waved at him invitingly, “Yeah sure.” 

“No,  _ alone _ .” 

Alexis exchanged a look with the guy. He shrugged. She stood up and Enzo lead them to the snack bar. It was student run and helped fundraise money so most of the student’s were there. The line was long and Enzo felt comfortable talking here since the noise would drown out their conversation. 

Alexis rocked on her heels. 

“You know when you were moving out of my dorm?” 

Alexis rolled her eyes, “Yeah that was the night I got jumped.” 

“Yeah. Did the police ever figure out who did it?” 

“No.” 

There was a moment Enzo thought this was the last time he could turn the conversation around. Alexis didn't know. It felt like some big secret. At school people had asked, about why Enzo was taken out of class by security and still lived off campus -he had to fight the school for weeks until they finally backed off when Enzo threatened to call Orman- and why Roman was out of school for weeks and then showed up wearing a cast. But Enzo had sidestepped all the questions he didn't want to answer and spun an easy lie for the ones harder to answer. He wanted to make sure he didn't say too much and also enough, “I got jumped that night too-” 

“I know. I heard. A lot of people were talking.” She leaned forward to check how long the line was. It was only a couple of people. 

“It’s hard to explain but I know who.” Alexis looked at him like he had just confessed he’d done it. Enzo quickly explained, “ My father, the musician, he-uh, well his mother died and instead of giving him her property and money she gave it to  _ me. _ ” Enzo swallowed the lump in this throat, “I can't figure out why but, he got pissed off at me and went on the tangent trying to scare me into giving him the property. He attacked me, broke into my house, terrorized me and planted drugs in my bag. And that car wreck that Roman was in.” Alexis nodded, “Him.” Enzo let out a long breath. 

Alexis was still staring at him but her expression softened. She looked him up and down. “He’s a dumb ass.” 

There was a moment of limbo where Enzo wondered who she was talking about and was all around slightly confused. “Who?”

“Your father.” Like it should have been obvious.

A chuckled bubbled out of Enzo, “That’s one way to put it.” 

She was still looking at him, though Enzo had laughed there was no humor found on Alexis’ face, “Do you know why I was sent here on court orders Enzo Abbott? No. I beat the shit out of my father after he slapped my little brother for spilling cheerios on the floor. My brother was one. And I almost put my father in a coma. So next time Mr  _ Abbott _ tries to pull that shit again, put him in a fucking coma.” She said it continuously, like she had done it many times.  “Now, I want red vines and I hope you have a job because you're paying.” She turned sharply back to the line. 

Enzo swallowed the lump in his throat. He pulled out his wallet. 

 

-

 

Afterwards Alexis hugged him, exchanged numbers and then wandered away. Enzo held his gatorade in his hands and pointed himself towards the bathroom. He set the bottle on the floor inside and went to one of the stalls. The bathrooms were tucked underneath the stadium seating and the game had just begun again. The ceilings vibrated with noise from countless feet and movement above. Enzo washed his hands in the grimey sink and inspected himself in the foggy mirror. 

He thought about the closet in which his father had pinned him against a wall and spit in his face. He thought about the slap of patrick as he hit the ground and the sharp pain that coursed through Enzo’s fist after he’d hit his father. He thought about the terror and joy that had swirled in his stomach and his head.  _ Put him in a fucking coma _ . 

A man came out of the stall. 

He let out a wet cough as he made his way to the sink. He washed his hands. The steam from the sink rolled out in waves. 

Enzo went back to look at himself in the mirror. On a whim he hooked a finger in the collar of Roman’s hoodie and pulled it down. In the dip of his collar bone was a fading purple and blue mark. Roman had given it to him during one of thier heated make out sessions. “This is payback” he said right before, trying to tease Enzo into a handjob by make him feel bad for following instructions. “ _ Doctor’s orders. _ ” Roman had always mocked when Enzo never let them go farther than kissing. Enzo always chuckled and pulled away at that, though he wanted to. He just didn't want to compromise Roman’s well being. Roman always acted unbothered but Enzo couldn't miss the way his hands went to his belt feverishly during those sessions.

“Your girlfriend give you that?” 

Enzo dropped his hand and looked at the man still standing at the skin next to him. “Hm?”  _ Boy _ felt like a better word. He had brown hair and was dressed in an all black outfit. His shoes were shiney, his hair was slicked back and his eyes read something Enzo found familiar. He was oozing a misplaced friendliness. 

“Your girlfriend, she give you the hickey?” He waved a hand at Enzo.

“Oh, oh!” Enzo forced a laugh, “My boyfriend actually.” He scratched the back of his  head.

The man, boy, raised his eyebrow. He turned to rip out a handful of paper towels and  dryed off his hands. The sink dripped, the sound echoed around the room, bouncing off the concrete walls.. “The...hoodie too?” 

“Yeah.” He pinched the front of it with too fingers and looked at the design. A red two horned devil grinned at him, “Well actually, I think I stole it more than he gave it.” 

The man threw away his paper towels. He smiled at Enzo. He had a wide set jaw and small eyes. He was cute, if you liked that kind of look, “Funny.” 

“What?” 

“I know a Palayo.” 

Enzo suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He noticed the change in the boy, he had squared his shoulders and his eyes ran over Enzo’s figure in a way Enzo had only ever gotten from Roman. “Weird.” he turned and started towards the door. 

There was a soft click. 

Enzo stopped.    


He knew that sound. It was the sound of the hammer on a gun being cocked. It was the grind of metal against metal. 

Enzo turned. 

The boy stared at him, he smiled when Enzo met his eyes. The gun looked him down. 

The footfalls on the ceiling fell louder. 

“Good.” he said sweetly, “Now tell me what you know about the Western Coast Corp.” He took a step forward. 

Enzo took a step back. The man followed him until Enzo was pressed up against the door, and he kept getting closer. Enzo could smell the tobacco on his breath. “Sounds like a shitty band name,” Enzo felt the nose of the gen press against his side. He tried to breathe around it. 

The man stared at him. 

“Did my father send you?” 

The laugh he got as a reply was enough to know the man was acting on his own accord. It rolled out of him like water from a gutter. “No,” He said when he was done. “But we are watching you Enzo Abbott.”

“A lot of people do that.” He shifted against the door, trying to get away from the pressure this man was putting on him.

“You, and Roman too. You guys make for a cute couple. All those fro-yo dates. Though you do have your issues, I bet that that little quarrel you had earlier was the least of what’s to come.” 

Enzo swallowed thickly. The man trailed a finger down Enzo’s neck, lips darting out to lick his lips. Enzo wanted to wriggle away but he knew how to behave in the presence of a gun. The man pressed against him, Enzo looked to the wall and suppressed a whimper. The feeling the man’s finger sent through him was equal to that of the gun pressed into his liver. He tugged down the hoodie’s collar. 

He leaned forward. His tongue dragged against the mark already there. Enzo squeezed his eyes shut and thought of anything but the saliva dripping down his collar bone. 

Sickness rolled through him like a brush fire. 

The man looked up and smiled. He gripped Enzo’s face and turned it to look at him, his tongue made another appearance as it danced across his lips. He ground against Enzo’s leg. “See you around Abbott.” he pulled away and shoved Enzo back over to the sink. 

Enzo gripped onto the lip and tried to steady himself.   
“Oh, and say hi to Vincent for me will you darlin’. Tell him, Jonathan says hello.” 

 

Enzo furiously splashed himself with water. It was hot and burned him but he didnt care, he scrubbed at the mark with a wet paper towel until it was bright red. He went to the door, he leaned against it, making sure no one lingered on the other side. 

He cracked it open. 

The coast was clear. 

He darted up the stairs and into the stands. Roman was there cheering along to the 

game with Ritter. He paused when he saw Enzo. He freezed. Roman knew, he saw it on Enzo’s face. God he could see Jonathan pressed against him. He could see Jonathan's wet tongue and the lump in his pants after. 

“Were leaving,” he growled. 


	4. I'll Make You Need Me/Why Dont You Want Me

“What happened?” Roman asked feverishly when they got to the car.

The sky was an endless abyss above, Enzo shook in the back seat. He was mostly composed, but he wasn't fooling anybody. He shook his head his curls bouncing. His left hand gripped at the collar of Roman’ hoodie. “Some guy…”

“Your father?” Roman pressed him. Ritter shoved the key into the ignition, the engine coughed to life. They exchanged a taught look in the rear view mirror. Oddly enough she didn't look worried, the line of her mouth read more sorry.

“No. Jonathan.”

Enzo didn't say anything after that. He was eerily quiet. Enzo was never quiet.  “Are you okay?”

“What did he say?”

“What did he  _ do _ ?”

Were all questions Roman voiced. When he got nothing from Enzo he looked to Ritter, she was concentrated on the road. It was drizzling above.

Roman touched Enzo’s leg in silent question. Enzo jerked away, it was subtle but the image of Enzo on the pavement was recalled he had jerked away from Roman’s touch then too. He suppressed a hiss and just watched Enzo. His eyes moved rapidly, his brain was mulling things over and slotting them away. He was trying to process.  When Roman looked down Enzo had his hand outstretched. Palm up. Roman took it. Enzo squeezed his hand and shut his eyes. Though it was dark Roman could see the labored line of his back. He was having trouble breathing.

“I think I am having a panic attack. I think this is what this is.” He mumbled, eyes forward.

Roman squeezed back.

When they got to the house Ritter did a messy parking job but it worked. After she finished pulling up to Vincent’s sleek sports car Roman god out. Watching Enzo flea into the house made Roman’s gut clench. Enzo didn't even make sure to shut the door behind him. Inside the house was dimly lit, and  fire already crackled in the hearth. It was warm and smelt like something savory.  Vincent came out of the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder. Enzo zipped past him and it was only then he noticed something was up. He turned to Ritter, “Wasn't expecting you guys home for another hour. What gives?” Roman let the fact he was addressing someone else instead of him when he was standing right there go. Silently he moved over to Enzo instead. He was slouched down into the couch. A pillow sat on his lap, his curls were ignited in the low light and orange glow of the fire. He rubbed the knuckle of his index finger over his lip. The flames of the fire held his attention. The look on his face was haunted. Roman a sat next to him almost half expecting him to remain in the trance like state. To his surprise Enzo grabbed his hand and let out a tremendous breath. His eyelids fluttered closed.

“What happened Enzo?” Vincent’s voice cut through like a knife.

Roman squeezed Enzo’s hand.

Vincent came to stand by the couch, Roman could feel him. His dark button up and obediently smooth slacks. His pearly sharp teeth and neat hair. Sleek, predatory and cruel was the only language Vincent knew how to speak.

“I-” Enzo sighed. “I was in the bathroom. This... _ boy... _ he wasn't much older than you-”

    “Jonathan.” Roman queued.

_ Jonathan. _

__ _ " _ Vincent." Ritter said almost accusingly.

Roman whipped around to look at his brother. The name felt familiar. Vincent looked a little more like Enzo, which was a sickening thought. The light was small but Roman saw something flash quickly across his brothers face. Inside his slack pockets Vincent's hands curled into fists. He swallowed thickly. It was guilt. It ravaged him. Burning his sharp smile down to a frown and ingrained a wrinkle in between his brows.  

With more steadiness Enzo finished, “He knew you, Vincent. He told me to tell you he says ‘hi’”

-

Roman was out of his spot on the couch next to Enzo in a flash. He had an ugly anger streaked across his face. He practically lunged at Vincent. His mouth was cruel. Something shot through Vincent, like a warning he wanted to step back but he held his ground. This, this thing with Roman scared him, but he wasn't going to ignore it any longer.

Everything about how Roman stood, staring his brother down, was a warning.

Enzo wasn't having it.  He stood up, and shouted, “Would you pipe down for one goddamn second Rome!”

Roman stopped. Every cell in his body snapped back to the peaceful Roman Vincent had grown up with as he turned around. Along with that all the nerves in Vincent relaxed and he let out a breath. He still felt the warning, the possibility of a fight etched along the back of his neck but it wasn't screeching for him to run, or fight back.

Roman said, “En-”

Roman fell silent when Enzo interrupted him.“Shut the fuck up.”

Trouble.

Enzo closed his eyes, let out a breath and said firmly, “Hallway.  _ Now. _ ” He turned and marched over to the stairwell, Roman followed. The line of his body was still tense but he didn't throw a burning glance over his shoulder like Vincent thought he would. Vincent was a bit surprised at the intensity of Enzo’s voice. Roman and Enzo always seemed like revolving forces, they never really collided. But then again, the earth had to be formed some way, and even it was descended from crashing planets.

Ritter’s stare rested heavily on Vincent. When Vincent met her eyes and he barely stopped his lip from quivering, her expression melted. She came over, put her hand on Vincent’s shoulder and smiled. Enzo and Roman were arguing in the stairwell, though Vincent didn't know what about, they were using hushed but agitated tones. Vincent looked away, that was Roman’s battle to fight, not his. Plus he trusted Enzo, even though he must have been quiet shaken at the moment.

Jonathan.

Joe.

He was...well Joe was harrowing. Deep set eyes and a power complex to make Patrick look like a fool. Vincent had known him for years. Only a few months ago had Vincent signed a contract and left Joe to his own father.

_ You can't do this to me _ .

_ I have to. _

__ _ You know what he’ll do to me if you leave. We can't suffer another loss or we’ll be in the ditch. We already are with Abbott’s whole deal, we’ll just be dead in it too. _

__ _ Not my problem. _

__ _ Oh hell it is. _

__ Vincent remembered the sting on Joe’s fist in his ribcage when he told him he’d quit the job. He remembered how scared Joe looked just then, all of the terror hidden under a violet flash of anger. Untamed. Vincent’s lips stung with all of the acidic touches.

“Hey,” Ritter said warmly. She had red and black smear over her cheeks from the game earlier.

Vincent looked at the ground. Joe wasn’t there in the room but Vincent was turning into the person he was with Joe anyways.

“You guys are…” She was gazing over to the corner, where the wall the separated the stairs from the living room rested. It was almost as if she could she through the plaster and drywall. She frowned. “Roman is angry.”

It sounded right enough.

“And so are you.”

Vincent scoffed.

Ritter looked at him. “That doesn't make for a happy family.”

Vincent pushed her off, “Don't talk to me about happy families.” he sat on the couch. Propping his elbows against his knees he rested his head in his hands. The other end of the cushion sank, Ritter took her place next to him. Vincent ran his hands frantically through his hair. He didn't know why he said it. “Tell me how to fix this.”

There was a smile in Ritter’s voice, “Ah, that would give away all my secrets.”

Vincent looked up and  _ scowled. _

Roman didn't come back. Vincent heard a pair of footsteps going up and into his room but the door didn’t slam so that might have been a good sign. Enzo appeared in the living room. Ritter watched him. Vincent sat back on the couch and started as he went over to the fireplace and leaned against it, he had something to say.

When he did say it Vincent wasn't very happy. “You need to leave.”

Ritter chuckled. She  _ chuckled. _

Vincent couldn't find his words for a moment. He paused thought for a second, and then, “Why?” He couldn't leave Clarkston. He couldn't leave his brother. Plus he had thing here he had to take care of. If Joe was really sniffing around in Clarkston then he had to be here to make sure it was taken up directly with him and not his brother, or his brother’s boyfriend.

“You...well”

_ Just say it. Say that it’s all my fault. Roman blames me. _

Enzo’s eyes flicked to Ritter. They shared it for a beat and then Enzo told him. “You can stay with Ritter for now. They have a spare.”

Vincent looked to Ritter. Her face was calm and unreadable. Then back to Enzo. He was upset, but Vincent saw the way his shoulders trembled and his eyes were still a little wide with panic.This wasn't about Vincent and they all knew it. So Vincent said okay.

-

In the hall Enzo’s face was shadowed and hallow. His eyes were fierce and his mouth an abstract concept.

“What the hell was that?”

“Vincent did this.”

Enzo scoffed. He crossed his arms. This was like their fight earlier, and a few days ago and a few weeks past on Roman birthday. Roman felt the weight of every single argument that moment. Roman being angry pissed Enzo off. Which was a tough thing.

“How is it his fault.”

_ He killed our mother, and abandoned dad. He ran off with his friend and shipped me off to Clarkston.  _ Roman didn't know how to say that. “This is all him.”

“And how is that Roman. Please explain to me.”

“Did you not hear yourself?” Roman aimed for angry but ended somewhere around scared. “Jonathan, of whoever the fuck  _ knows  _ Vincent. This is his fault.”

The air hung thick. Somehow Enzo still didn't see it. When Enzo had gotten jumped Roman began to think it was Vincent manipulating Roman using Enzo. He held a hurt, and anger inside him that eventually drove him away from Enzo. That fury was creeping back. Here Enzo was again the target of Vincent’s luck, he was the victim and Roman was a casualty. He didn't want to see Enzo hurt, he  _ wanted  _ Enzo. In a way he was scared. Scared he was going to have to choose between hurting and having Enzo again.

Roman dropped his head. “I don't want to lose you Enzo. I don't want to have to leave again. I want you.”

Enzo didn't reply for a beat.

“I can't have you if you keep acting like this Roman.”

It stung.

Enzo kept talking.  “I need  _ you,  _ not the you you become with your brother. Because I don't know what’s happening, and I don't know what to do, so I need  _ you. _ ”

“I'm just trying to protect you.”

“Well attacking your brother isn't doing that. It’s hurting me and you and him and isn't solving the fact that someone just tried to-” Enzo choked up at that part.  Roman looked to him. His eyes glistened. Enzo rolled his head as if brushing aside his thoughts. “The last thing I need is for you to be in there  _ chewing Vincent out for breathing. So pull your head out of your ass and stop before you ruin everything.” _

Roman wavered on the steps. Enzo didn't.  “Go.” Enzo waved him up the stairs.

Roman, deflated went up to their room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be a super dark part when I wrote this. But after I wrote it I felt really bad and I am debating on whether I'm going to upload it later, or even at all. So oops.


	5. A Knock On My Heart's Door/Please Open Up

Vincent didn't take much from his home in California. Like when he had moved from his childhood home to L.A it was only a suit case, one box and a duffel bag. His belongings were few and important. The modern apartment he resided in for four years was less like a home and more like a place between places. He never felt the sigh of _this is my home._ When Joe had first slid the key into his separate apartment Vincent had been there. With a cold metal click a smile spread across his thin mouth. His eyes glittered in the spring sun filtering through the hall window. He was young then. So was Vincent. Barely on the cusp of eighteen freshly orphaned and desperate to survive. Joe flicked him a look. With no more ceremony he let the door swing open. His eyes prowled over the empty but furnished living room. Everything was white or black or grey. Texture remained outside of the apartment building itself. Inside everything had at least one sharp corner; the apartment the straightforward and concise.   
Vincent didn't miss it. 

His door creaked open. Enzo stood on the other side of it. He looked at odds with himself. His eyes held a certain horror in them. One Vincent had seen time and time again. On the other hand his lavish waves of ruddy hair marked him young and innocent and soft. Something twitched inside Vincent like a bird ruffling it’s feathers. 

Roman used to look like that. Vincent still caught the child hidden deep inside his brother  sometimes so he knew it still existed, just not for him anyways. Ritter, who was standing in Vincent’s closet clucked her tongue. When he looked over she was pulling another shirt off his hanger and neatly folding it. “You need any help in here?” Enzo said shyly. 

“No.” Vincent replied but not unkind. Waving a hand he added, “Go take care of my brother.” 

In the doorway Enzo nodded his head before turning on his heel and going into his own room.

Roman hadn't come out since their fight and Vincent couldn't tell if he was glad about it or not. The first time the Palayo brothers had really ever fought it was a cold night about two weeks after their mother passed. The world had been dead then, and Vincent had seen his brother cry for the first time since Roman had gotten taller than four feet. In truth that was the last time Vincent ever felt like he had a choice, up until a few weeks ago. Joe had met him at work that night. The burger shop, a greasy family owned diner, whose only specialty was hiring teenagers. He remembered Joe too. Cold and superior in the booth across him, flashing his teeth and waving his hand at all Vincent’s sensible remarks like the world meant nothing and it was going to burn it to the ground. Joe had been young then. Living like a king. Knowing nothing of his father but wanting his life so badly. Joe came to Vincent with and offer Vincent would never had considered. But when Vincent’s father killed himself and Roman started getting in trouble Vincent had no choice. They were losing the house, that was a given. Roman got expelled after pulling a switch blade out on a fellow classmate and threatening to “gut him end to end and leave him on his front lawn for his mother to find”. There wasn't exactly a future Vincent could live through that had already presented itself, so he took Joe’s offer and carved out a new one.    


Now here he was doing the same thing he’d done four years ago. He could bang on Roman’s door but if Roman wouldn't open it there was no way he was getting inside. 

“They’re gonna be okay.” Ritter said. 

Vincent looked up at her. “Who?” 

“Everyone. Were gonna be okay. But these next few weeks will be hard. Really hard.” She

stopped. She looked sad. Suddenly something flickered in her distant gaze. Fixing Vincent with her almost intense stare she said, “We’ll come out better for it.” 

He didn't know what to do. So he moved back to packing up his stuff. 

Ritter’s house was large. It had an inviting set of windows and pale porch. The lawn was neatly clipped and the driveway smooth and clean. Vincent parked his car on the side as Ritter pulled into the driveway. He let out a big sigh.  Resting his eyes on the headrest of his car he tried to still the swirl in his stomach. Joe was back. Why? Was a question Vincent couldn't fathom finding the answer too. Joe was selfish and self absorbed but his father was worse. Vincent had struck a deal with Eli Cooper, the leader of the cartel Vincent worked for. According to Eli, Vincent was the best worker they’d seen in years. He was good with numbers, and good with people -which oddly enough was a valuable thing in the drug business. However, an employee who didn't want to work was a bad employee. So Eli let Vincent go. Vincent signed a contract, he could say nothing to anyone about his work, he would not be involved in any other drug importing business and he would be paid and monthly salary. Though Eli was disappointed Vincent thought he was more than pleased when Vincent came to him wanting out. Eli liked Vincent yes, but he didn't like the relationship Joe had with Vincent. Vincent felt the same way. 

Ritter knocked on his window. His eyes flicked open. Ritter smiled at him and opened the door,

“You just gonna sit out here or are you going to come inside?” 

Vincent stepped out forcing Ritter back and collected his things. They hauled ass inside leaving 

a gust of cold air behind them. Ritter set Vincent’s box down on the grey tiles. 

Her brother stood in the foyer. More liked leaned. He was tall, like her, though more built in the shoulders. His smiled was slanted. His blonde hair was cut neatly. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled to reveal miles and miles of colored skin. Vincent knew he was a tattoo artist but hadn't thought he’d have full blown sleeves. They weren't like a collection of meaningless drawings splattered across his skin, it was an array of art and wonder. A skyline there, a weird triangle shape there, a bird drifting across his wrist and a singular line of words running down the length of his forearm. 

Chris was looking at him. His grin sharpened. 

“Christopher this is Vincent, Vincent, Chris.” Ritter said. 

Chris didn't say anything, just stared. 

“Okay,” Ritter dusted her hands off, “i’m going to make dinner.” 

The two siblings shared a meaningful  _ look _ as she walked past. Vincent noted the purposeful 

brush of their shoulders. Chris leaned against the wall, hand in his tight jeans and necklace glinting from inside his low buttoned shirt.   
Vincent swallowed and picked up his bag once more, “Where is my room?” 

Chris looked at him.   
Vincent nodded to the box that remained on the floor. “Would you mind picking that up?” 

He walked over, bent down, and picked up the box. “Yeah.” As he turned Vincent noted the thin pink, purple and blue line tattoo that followed one of his veins.   
Chris took Vincent across the living room past the kitchen Ritter was dinking around in and down the hall.   
“Bathroom.” Chris rapped on an open door.   
“My bedroom.” He said pointedly.   
“Your bedroom.” His voice held the same energy as the statement previous. 

Vincent went into his room. It was spacey. The carpet was white and the bed had a grayish-blue  comforter. The curtains blocked the view out of the large windows and a standing lamp illuminated the space. Vincent set his stuff on the bed and Chris followed his lead. He promptly left the room. Part of Vincent was glad, the other disappointed. Brushing the feeling away Vincent unpacked. 

About an hour later there was a knock at his door. Chris came in when Vincent answered it and 

nosily sat on his bed. The action was so undeniably Ritter that Vincent wondered if they were twins. He leaned back on his hands.   
Vincent rolled his eyes. Chris smiled.   
“So what’s your sob story?” It was a genuine question. One that, Vincent  noted, came from real curiosity rather than a condescending nature. 

However, it was still rude. “You know if you’re going to come in here and be an asshole-” 

“We all have one.” 

In order to not glare at him Vincent had to turn to the dresser where he had been unpacking his 

shirts. He had his back to Chris. He didn't try and face him, if Christopher was going to come in here and be an ass then he could stare at  _ Vincent’s _ ass. 

“You tell me yours and i’ll tell you mine.” 

Vincent plopped a shirt into the top drawer.“ _ You show me yours and ill show you mine.”  _ He added a few degrees of insult to his imitation of Chris’ voice. 

Chris laughed. It was pure and happy. It plucked Vincent’s heart strings. He remembered a time he could laugh like that. At family dinners when Roman practiced balancing a spoon on his nose and failed miserably when it fell into his bowl splashing soup all over his lap. Or when their dad made a joke full of quiet humor. Or when their mom told one of her famous tales and weaved laughter into it like  blue into the sky. Chris ended his laugh with a breathy, “Okay.” 

Vincent could feel his smile. He angrily folded a shirt. Roman, Enzo, him. _Joe._ He felt sick. Like her was going to pass out. He felt like he had the first time Joe shoved him down into his own bed. He felt, vulnerable. A dog belly up. Like his soft underbelly was exposed. Roman was tearing right into it, and Chris was pouring salt and Joe was snickering behind them all waiting for his turn to abuse him. He felt the ghost of Joe’s hands wrapped around his wrists. If he looked down at himself would he see his own skin or would he be covered in bruises in the shapes of hands and fingers. 

And Chris was laughing. And telling jokes. And Roman hated him, and he’d come here for nothing and Joe was here and Roman would tear his throat out if Vincent didn't do anything. 

Joe. 

“Christine tells me you and Roman don't get along.” 

Understatement. Vincent dryly chuckled.

“Enzo got attacked by his father, Roman had a hard time with it and blamed you.” 

Wanting to tell someone to shut up and actually doing it were two different things. Vincent 

thought about it. Honestly he knew Roman didn't really think Vincent was responsible for the beating and terrorizing of Enzo but he was still angry. At what was what got Vincent confused. Roman had been angry at his brother since he was fourteen. Since he had screamed at Vincent that fateful night,  _ Why didn't you tell them to stop? Why did you let them kill her?  _ Or when Vincent found Roman crouched over their father’s wet figure when he weakly said,  _ He’s gone. Where were you? Why weren’t you at home watching him, you knew he needed help.  _

Vincent gripped the wardrobe his knuckles turning white. “Roman blames me for my mother dying. And my father. And leaving him and selling the house. For doing things he doesn’t like so I could keep him safe.” It felt like Joe was slicing through him. 

Chris was quiet for a long time. 

Vincent remembered his math teacher. She was a tall women with curly black hair and white shocks through her bangs. Once day she handed Vincent a pamphlet for a ivy league college. “Illinois?” He asked.  “I know it’s pretty unheard of for anyone from this town to get in, but it would be a complete waste of any school to not let you in. Your smart Vincent, don't let what's happened bog you down.” Vincent nodded, his eyes a little watery, “Thanks, i’ll think about it.” He threw the pamphlet away when he got home and instead picked up the bill waiting in the mail pile. 

“Roman doesn’t recognize you lost your parents too.” Chris said. Then almost like Vincent had just spoke out loud, “You sacrificed a lot for him.” 

“Yeah I guess.” Vincent replied halfheartedly. “He was young when mom passed, he kept saying he was grown but he shouldn't have seen what he did. He wasn't ready. I should have taken him out.” Vincent hadn't been either but he was more mature and his mind had been able to process what was happening. The doctors admitting the meds were not just killing her  _because_ , she was going to die anyways and they were making sure she didn't suffer.   
Roman though. Roman, between his grief and his innocent mind couldn't see the doctors and Vincent as anything other than killers who stood by as his mother died in front of him. 

“You did the best you could.” Chris said. Vincent didn't know he had stood up so when he placed a hand on his shoulder Vincent swirled around. He was ready for a fight. The wardrobe made a loud bang as he backed into it.

Chris flinched, he put his hands up, “Whoa.” 

Something twisted inside Vincent. “Don't-” He couldn't breathe. “Just give me a warning.” He finally managed by looking at the ground. 

“Sorry.” Like his laugh the apology was true. “I didn't know.” 

“Yeah , it’s fine.” Vincent scratched the back of his head. 

“I’m not like that. I wont do that again.” 

Vincent’s cheeks warmed. Chris smiled at him, a vein in his cheek popped out, his jaw was like carved wood. Now that they were closer -Chris had backed off but not by that much- Vincent could properly see his tattoos. He pointed at the colorful line on his arm, “What’s that about?”

Chris looked down at it. When he realized what Vincent was talking about he rubbed a finger over the line, “Oh it’s the tattoo I got when I came out.” 

Vincent nodded. “Bi, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.”  

Chris’ mouth turned up into a shit eating grin. 

Ritter screamed from the kitchen, “There’s food if you want it!” 

Vincent was still observing the art on Chris’ skin. Chris laughed privately, and maybe he winked  but Vincent thought that might have been his imagination. Chris left to go get dinner.    



	6. Fro-yo and Drugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word for you: confrontation

Roman waited outside his car. Drops of water were splashed across the hood making little beads of black. It almost looked like wet paint if you squinted. A sharp wind was traveling through the school yard, cutting through Roman’s winter jacket. Students walked past him head ducked down into their collars. A few of them didn't race to their next destination like the others. They were not frightened by Clarkson's shitty weather. To some of them it was home. The bare trees and grey skies lifted her spirits like no other. The heavy chill of promised snow or the muted sheet of ice on your windshield you had to scrape off in the mornings. It reminded Roman of home. When Vincent would drop him off at school in the mornings and he’d sit in the passenger side hands cupped to his face trying to get warm. Or when Vincent taught him how to draw on the windows and Roman promptly took to writing a cuss word he just learned in bubble letters.   

Roman liked the cold that enveloped to town. 

Enzo, growing up in the heat of the southern states, did not. “It’s cold as balls.” He said tromping across the yard towards him. 

Roman bounced his keys in his palm. “Who's driving?” 

Enzo, already going to the passenger side said, “You, your just dropping me off. Right?” 

Roman modded and unlocked the car. His new Ford had automatic locks. Inside the car Enzo flung his backpack into the back seat as Roman got it warmed up. All the windows fogged up. In the seat next to him Enzo stripped off his uniform, “Thank god for this.” He said also throwing his sweater into the back. He put on his work shirt.   
With the windshield now almost fully clear Roman pulled out of their parking spot. He drove them into town. Enzo’s work was a blue and white themed building, about the size of a movie theater restroom. There was a big wall for self serve fro-yo and a circular counter for the cashier to stand behind and weigh cups. Roman’s favorite part were the little colored spoons that had snow monsters on the top of the handle. Enzo, now in uniform -which consisted of his yeti shirt, apron and hat, he had to pull his hair back and that made him undeniably goofy- unbuckled his seat belt. “Im off at six thirty. You gonna pick me up or should I see if Ritter is free?” 

“I can pick you up Enzo.” 

“Okay okay I was just making sure. You want fro-yo?” 

“Yeah, sure.”  

It felt stupid. Enzo, ever the boy, seemed unaffected by what had happened on friday. They didn't talk about it after that night, though everything in Roman told him to. Enzo had told him that they just needed to cool off for a bit. Roman had looked at him. Cooling off wasn't a solution. Roman wanted a _solution._ When he had asked, Enzo still hadn't been able to articulate what happened at the game. Roman knew someone -Jonathan- had come in and done something, but not what. 

“Enzo.” Roman said before he could shut the door. Enzo had already started getting out. 

He leaned down, hat covering most of his forehead, “Yeah?” 

“Are you sure your gonna be okay?” 

There could be so much meaning in that.  _ Are you sure your going to be okay, it’s cold out and you don't have a jacket. Are you sure you’re going to be okay, no one gets fro-yo in the winter and it’s a three hour shift I don't want you to get bored I know what will happen if you do. _

The way Roman said it was like,  _ Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, my brother’s past is coming to maul you and I want you to be safe. _

Clearly understanding what Roman meant, Enzo replied, “Im at work, there’s another person on 

duty and a fully automated alarm system. If anybody tries to come in and start shit it will be taken care of Roman.” 

“We thought we’d be safe at school, and you’re father somehow got in there.” Roman pointed 

out.

Enzo scowled at the ground. “This isn't my father.” 

“How so?” The way Enzo had just said that felt like a confession, but Roman couldn't 

understand about what.

“Can we talk about it tonight?” Enzo straightened his hat.

“Yeah.”  __

Enzo left. He crossed the road and went inside the building. Roman watched him vanish behind the wall and into the break room. 

Roman had two options. He could go home. It was a simple one. Maybe clean up, do homework. Watch a movie, or read a book. Of course he would always start a fire and wait for Enzo to come home. But there was another option. It nagged at him like the tags on the back of your shirt. It wasn’t necessary but it felt like the whole world would collapse if he didnt take care of the itch.   
Roman wanted a solution. He wanted answers. So, pointing the head of the car towards town instead towards the mountains Roman went to the only person that really had them. 

When he arrived at Ritter’s,  Chris opened the door. He smiled brightly when Roman met his eyes. He was wearing a dark v neck. “Hiya!” He said.   
“Is Vincent here?” Roman already knew the answer, his brother’s car was parked in front of his own. His was black and sleek and new, Roman’s was old and boxy. 

Chris opened the door, “Second door on the left.” 

Roman nodded as he came inside and hesitated for only a second before crossing the white foyer.   
“No fighting and knock first goddammit.” Chris said over his shoulder at Roman. 

Roman ignored him for the most part. When he knocked all he got was a mumbled, “Come in.” Either Vincent had said it lazily or the door had sufficiently muffled it. Roman settled on the latter when he opened the door. Vincent was sitting on his bed, head ducked down into his laptop.   
Vincent looked up, a small grin vanishing from his mouth. 

Roman pocketed his fists. 

The first thing Vincent asked was: “Where’s Enzo?” 

“Work.” 

They didn't look away from each other.  
“That why you came?” Vincent shut his laptop. “So you can yell at me without him stopping you. Or better yet getting mad and kicking you out.” There was ice in his voice. He narrowed his eyes. 

Roman took a breath as he considered his brother. Vincent looked like he was itching for a fight. “I came here to talk. Don't make me regret that.” 

With a scoff Vincent replied, “Please, you never want to talk. Not to me.” 

“And why it that Vincent? Why would I possibly ever feel that way about you?” Too late Roman realized he’d crossed over into insulting. 

Vincent stood up. He didn't come closer but there was tension pulling through out his body. “Don’t be an asshole.” 

_ Then stop hurting me. _

Roman took a moment for think about what Chris said to him. It was hard but he managed to reel himself back in. “I'm just here for answers.” 

“I don't have the ones you want.” 

“We both know that is a lie.” 

It was, partially. Vincent took his time with his next answer, “I can't give them to you.” 

“Why?” 

“Reasons.” He said with a breath. His eyes were closed, he made no move to open them. 

“Bull.” Using the door jamb to lean against Roman did his best to adopt a cool exterior. The things Enzo had said to him rattled around in his brain. There was undeniable sense of tension in the conversation and otherwise Roman wouldn't have the composure to keep it from snapping.  _ I need you. Not the you you become around him _ . Most of the time Roman didn't recognise what Enzo had been talking about, but he saw it clear as day now. It struck a sense of repulse throughout him, shame maybe. A slick snake curling up in the depth of his stomach. “What ever happened I need to know why. Who. How.” 

“I can't tell you everything.”   
Roman wanted to smash Vincent’s nose in. “Why not?” 

Everything was a piece of glass directed under Roman’s skin. The way Vincent looked up at him. The way he managed to appear small and docile in the room. “Because he’ll kill all of you if I do.” 

Death was an old friend to the Palayo brothers. It coiled around their feet like a serpent. It was their shadow and their weapon. It did not want them, it wanted what they had. 

_ Mom.  _

_ Dad.  _

_ Enzo Abbott. _

Roman found Vincent’s stash on a gloomy spring day. It was a small paper bag, worn and greasy. Vincent had hidden it behind his head bored, and Roman ever the quiet mouse had found it by watching. From the crack in Vincent’s door Roman waited. His brother prowled about the room, he was getting dressed for the day. At that point he’d already dropped out and started hanging out with the boy Roman heard referred to as “the rich bastard with daddy issues” by some of the upperclassmen. He was different now. Roman and him didn't talk. Coming back into view Vincent went to his bed, reached behind the head board and extracted the paper bag. It rustled as he reached in. He pulled out a saran wrapped baggie about the size of his palm. Roman’s breath caught. Vincent’s phone rang. Hurriedly he closed the bag, shoved it behind his headboard and pocketed the baggie. All in one fluid practiced motion. He answered his phone then, and said, “I have it, where am I supposed to meet you?” Roman scuffled away, retreating to his room and peering out of his own crack. Vincent came out of his room and down the hall. From the other side of the door Roman heard a name, “Me and Jonathan are going to be relocating here soon. You might want to find another dealer.” 

_ Jonathan.  _

Now, standing in the hallway of the Ritter house; standing before his brother Roman asked:“Why?” for the first time in years. 

“Why what?” Vincent sounded almost defeated. 

“All those years you got yourself caught up in this shit show suddenly you decide you want out? 

And not only do you want out, you want to come back and try and act like we can suddenly be brothers again.” Regrettably Roman added, “You worked so hard to ruin our lives, why are you trying to make up for it?” 

Across the room Vincent looked horrified. That expression though quickly turned to anger. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said with heat. “You sit there and yell at me, and scream at me. You tell me all the horrible things i've done to you and now you want to come over here and  _ talk _ ?” 

Roman took his weight off the door jamb. “Do you want to know why Vincent? Is that what you want to know?”   
Their voices were getting increasingly more intense.   
“Because you fucking left. The second Mom died you checked out. Me and dad were _alone. He was alone_ Vincent.” Roman felt the sting all over again. “ _I had to make sure he ate. I had to convince him to go on medication in the first place. I had to find him dead.”_

“No one ever asked you too.” Vincent shot back. 

“Who else was going to do it?” Roman said voice low and meaningful. He saw the exact second it made landfall. “You were too worried about selling drugs and ignoring me. Everything turned into Vincent Vincent Vincent. Not a second thought about me or Dad or Mom. Other than her funeral have you even ever been to her grave? Did you even love her or was that a ploy to make your family feel good?”  

“Don't fucking say that.”   
“Why?” It was a tease, a taunt and boy did Vincent take the bait. 

“Because that's all I ever thought about Roman! That’s been my entire life!” Taking a step forward Vincent turned hostile. For the most part he’d hidden that part of him -how angry he really was- in favor of sucking up to Roman or Enzo. But now, the whole mask was burning. “I practically sold myself for you and Dad! Everything, I gave up  _ everything.  _ Mom died and you blamed me. Dad died and you blamed me. You got expelled and all I heard from anyone was, ‘he’s calling out for help, you should really get him some counseling or therapy’. But I couldn't, you wanted me to keep the house, you wanted me to keep us in Glen Butte so I did. I worked my ass off. I sold drugs and made friends with people I never wanted to talk to. I’ve done things Roman, things I never want to think about and you keep telling me i'm selfish.” Either he was yelling, or it was the hurt in his voice that made it sound so loud. 

“I never asked you to.”   
“But you didn't have too. Mom was gone, and Dad almost gone. I am your _brother._ It’s my job to protect you.” Vincent took another step forward. 

Roman was quiet for a beat. He tried to reel himself in, he tried to savor Enzo’s words. He couldn’t. “Did you ever think about how I felt? How when I found your stash how I’d feel. Maybe you didn't notice that was the  _ same  _ fucking day I pulled a knife out on the kid in my class.” Roman took a breath, otherwise he would fall apart at the seams. “I watched it kill my mother, and then I watched it kill my father. And then I watched as it took you away from me. Did you ever think about that?” 

“It was the only way out.” 

“Bullshit. There are so many other ways to make money. Ways that wouldn’t send me into the bathroom with a knife ready to kill myself.”

Vincent reeled back. Not physically, but Roman saw the drastic change in his face. “You-” 

“Yeah Vincent. And do you know why I didn't?” 

Vincent didn't answer but Roman continued. 

“Because I know how it feels to find the person you love more than anything, dead.” To punctuate Roman sealed his mouth and relaxed himself. Vincent's expression was a mess of anger and guilt and worry and relief. It made Roman sick. Finally he rapped on the door. “Vincent. You’re my brother, but you need to handle this shit before Enzo gets hurt or I swear to god I wont feel any shame when I put bullet through your head.” 

A voice from the end of the hall interrupted him. “ _ Roman. _ ” It was Chris. He was using his parent voice. Roman turned to look at him unapologetically. He was standing in the hall, unafraid of what he was saying. “I think you should leave.” Roman turned to look at Vincent. They shared a beat of eye contact before Chris chimed in again, “Out, now.” 

Roman stormed out. 


	7. Your Smile, His Bed

Roughly Vincent had outlined a plan in his brain. It was simply made of two steps so far. One: call Joe. Two: talk to him. But rather than carrying out such a plan Vincent sat in his room and pondered. Those first days in California had been a rude awakening for Joe. The cruelty of his father was a strong force especially when working with a person so ready to please. It was vaguely like those news stories you saw on TV. When a local dog -usually a pit bull- attacked a small child or tiny animal of sorts and was facing euthanasia. Everyone always seemed to blame the dog. But looking closer, you would see it was the owner who had fostered such a nature in the animal itself. 

Vincent had done things to please Eli Cooper. Things he did not like.    


Joe however. Joe had pushed himself much farther. And in his own mind deserved much more. So he took, and he took and took. Was Joe in Clarkston on his own biding, or was it a act of loyalty to his father? Would he come to claim Vincent as his own, or was he merely rounding him back up for Eli? Either way Vincent knew he would end up in the bed of Joe Cooper again. The thought swirled around in his foggy mind, it took a hold of him. Enzo. Vincent felt bad for Enzo. Anything Joe had done to him Vincent had once felt himself. Letting his thoughts wander Vincent came up with sick possibilities as to what Enzo had been exposed to. Though he calmed his mind with the fact that Enzo hadn’t appeared very shaken. His thoughts reeled back with the fact he had hidden his abuse for a long time. He still was. 

Suddenly there was a knock at his door. Vincent flinched and it took a few milliseconds to get his heart started and his mind in working order. When he did he shakily went to the door.   
Chris stood on the other side. “Hey handsome,” he said. 

Vincent, still wandering through the caverns of his memories didn't answer. Instead he watched how Chris’ smile turned a bit forced and then genuine and then went away. It was a marvelous process to watch. All of it suggested a discomfort or tension to the conversation. 

“Oookay.” Chris answered himself. Almost disappointed he turned on his heel and started down the hall.

Vincent snapped out of it. “Wait.” He leaned out his door to watch as Chris spun back around, smile blazing once again. 

“Yeah?” He asked. His eyes glittered in the warm hall light. 

“What?” 

“What what?” Chris made a lost expression. He looked to one of the photos hanging on the wall for advice. 

“You just came in here like you had something to say.” Vincent stepped out in the hall a bit, it seemed to ease some of the awkwardness. “I just wanted to know what it was.”   
Chris let out a small chuckle. He rubbed his finger over something on the wall. “Oh. Oh!” He said finally looking back to Vincent. Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Um…” He was endearing. To Vincent’s relief he finally managed, “Well, there is a pizza on the way, a beer in the fridge with your name on it, and I have a copy of The Princess Bride and a couch.” 

Vincent let himself smile. Scratching the back of his head he asked, “What kind?” 

“Hm?” 

“The pizza, what kind?” 

“Oh! Cheese, it’s cheese.” 

They watched the movie. Vincent in his socks and Chris curled up with a blanket. The pizza came and Chris managed to devour four pieces. “I work out it’ll be fine.” He said when Vincent pointed this out. Vincent shrugged and took a swing off his beer. He really didn’t have the taste for the stuff, but maybe that was because he’d only been able to drink it for a year. The movie was good. Vincent found himself wondering how Chris knew of it, but it was made abundantly clear that he’d seen it too many times. Every time the guy said, “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.” Chris would mouth the words. Vincent howled with laughter when Chris caught him staring and asked “What?” as if it was a normal thing to do. 

“Do you have the entire script memorized? Is that what you do in your free time?” Vincent asked between laughs. 

Chris, mock offended, put a hand to his chest, “Why I would never do such a thing.” 

Vincent laughed, and buried his head in the sofa cushion. He was quite tired. His eyelids were drooping. It was not so much as ready for sleep but just drained. He felt exposed, and unsure. Like standing on tiny canoe as it rocked back and forth on the waves. Almost sea sick.   
Roman again and again shouted in his ears. 

That this was all his fault. That he must do something. But Vincent was scared, he was mortified. He couldn't go back to Joe. He couldn’t face him again. He couldn't bare the touch of him, or the smell of him in his nose. The feeling of his sheets gripped in his hands. It was all too much. 

“Hold on.” Chris said jumping off the couch. 

Vincent pulled his face from the cushion just in time to see Chris disappear down the hall. He pondered for a second if he should follow, but decided against it. Instead he watched the ending credits on the movie. Chris’ empty beer bottle sat on the coffee table along with the pizza boxes containing a few slices. Vincent, warily wondering if it was allowed, hooked his finger in the crochet blanket Chris had been using. He wrapped it around his shoulders. It was a little scratchy but all around warm. It smelt like vanilla. 

“Now strike a pose” Chris waltzed in. He was holding a black notebook and set of fancy pencils.    


Vincent looked at him. “How’s this one?” He said unmoving from his blanket shawl.    


“It’s good,” Chris sat down on the couch, back against the arm, facing Vincent. Slowly he started scratching a drawing onto the paper. He worked thoughtfully. He chewed on his lip as he went, and drew his eyebrows down so they framed his eyes. Glancing up a small grin would spread across his lips and then quickly vanish. The after affects of it wreaked havoc on the rest of his face.

After tossing the notebook over to Vincent Chris put his pencils away. 

Vincent looked at the drawing. It was rough and raw. There was Vincent, blankets framing his face and strands of hair crawling out underneath it. He’d been so focused on watching Chris draw that he didn't know how much he’d been staring at him. His eyes were full and warm, his mouth calm and relaxed.   
“Is this what I look like?” he asked, brushing his fingers over the paper. 

Chris nodded, looking at him sideways. “To me.” 

“Cute.” 

Chris laughed quietly to himself. He adjusted his watch with nervous fingers. Turning around to face Vincent he took the picture back. Then he flipped it over to look at.  Vincent noticed how close they were. He was overwhelmed by vanilla. “Yeah. Cute.” 

He looked up. Blue poured into brown. 

“It’s late.” Vincent said.

“Yeah, it is.” Chris said. His eyes flicked down to Vincent’s mouth.

“I should go to bed.” 

“Yeah.” 

And in that moment. If Vincent had thought of anything else he might have kissed Chris. He wanted to. He’d never kissed anyone and Chris felt like a good person to practice on. But he thought of Joe. For one second he saw Chris’ lips and saw Joe. Clear as day as he said, “Just make this easy, please.” He saw Joe and everything that had just happened didn't matter. 

Vincent stood up. He collected the pizza box and took it into the kitchen. When he came out Chris was still sitting on the couch. He looked down at his hands, he was still holding the picture.    


“Goodnight.” Vincent said. 

“Goodnight.” Chris said back. 

With out another word Vincent went to his room and locked the door. He needed to fix this. His heart broke with knowing he was never going to be able to get away. Knowing that he could never kiss Chris, that he could never stand beside him. It wasn’t that as much as what it symbolized. Vincent Palayo would never be his own person. He would always be chained to someone. 

Every decision he’d made since his mother became sick was based on someone else. Vincent, now just realizing this felt trapped in a cage of his owning making. He desperately wanted out. 

Roman told him to take care of this.   
Vincent pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. 

When Joe picked up every bone in Vincent’s body rattled. “Hello. Pretty boy, you finally decided to call.” 

Vincent was going to be sick. “Meet me in town tomorrow, by the coffee shop on third. Just you and me.” 

“Wow, are you feeling alright Palayo? Acting kind of ballsy. Should I get us a hotel room?”

Vincent hung up. Slowly he opened the door, went into the bathroom and threw up the pizza he’d managed to eat. 


	8. Maybe Pulchritudinous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate this for some reason. But Enjoy!

Downtown Clarkson was a heartfelt place. All the streets were clean and treelined. Quaint shops hugged the corners and nooks, and frequent passerbys smiled at you through the glass windows. The coffee shop was lively in the afternoon. The sounds of voices and bubbling machines, fine china on plates and the scuffle of working feet were all blended together in a symphony of rich coffee scents. The furniture was warm and welcoming, a few lingering sofas and brightly colored paintings. The windows were wide and beams of winter sun broke through to love at the store’s interior. Vincent sat at a window seat. The hot coco in his hands was going cold. Watching the streets outside he tried to imagine what he was going to say. How he was going to handle this. He’d done it before, told Joe that he was leaving, that he quit, that his things were packed up and his car was waiting for him outside. 

He hadn’t taken it well.   
There was screaming. A lot. There was violence. He reminded Vincent of Eli. Cold, powerful and childish. He looked so much like his father then. Maybe Vincent did too, handling it all with an quiet stare and a surprisingly easy tone. 

 

-

  
Vincent parked the old white Honda in front of the house. On the curb, where it always went. His last meeting with Jonathan had gone, okay. Vincent was picking up some of the slack, but he thought soon he’d be handling some of the bigger deals. He’d made three hundred dollars the past week. The bills were disappearing like ice on the floor.   
He got out. He unlocked the front door. 

Inside, David. Dad. Sat at the dining room table. He was holding a glass.  He looked tired, his eyes drooped. He was still wearing the robe, he always wore that damn robe. Vincent set his bag down. He had homework. But it was late and he was tired, maybe he could find some time later. 

“Dad.” He said. The floorboards creaked underneath him. “Dad, it’s late you should go to bed.” 

David didn't look up. He muttered something and rolled his head to the side. Vincent reached out, 

his finger’s brushed the lip of the glass.  He wanted to take it away. David’s knuckles were white around the cup. 

“Dad, let’s go to bed.” He tried. Vincent tried to wrap his arm around his dad and lift him up from the table. Vincent tried to slide the glass away. He tried to help David as he limped through the dark hallway into his bed. Halfway there David made a putrid sound. Vincent smelt the drinks on his breath and swallowed down his sadness.   
David puked. 

It got on Vincent’s pants, and dribbled onto the floor. 

With a heave sigh Vincent rubbed at his father back. “It’s okay.” He said. It wasn't. There was

puke on his jeans, whiskey in his father’s glass, a backpack full of homework, and a brother that needed him, and his mom wasn't there to smooth his hair and say  _ take one thing at a time _ .  Truth was there wasn’t enough time to focus on one thing. Save his dad. Help his brother. Pay the bills. Go to school. Grieve his mother. 

 

-

 

Joe never showed. It was a thing he did. Waited. He waited so that you sat in your own fear. 

After two hours, Vincent took a swig off of his hot chocolate, it was gritty from the cold. He stood. The store bustled around him. The trash can thunked when he threw his full cup into it. He went outside. Cold air whipped around him, leaves danced across the pavement. The skies were as sunny as you would get in the winter, which was an unusual thing. He itched for a smoke. The habit always seemed to help kick the uneasy feeling in his stomach. How long was Joe going to wait? He wanted something and he was going to get it. Vincent pulled out his phone. He dialed Joe’s number, twice. He didn't answer.   
This was a sick game he was playing. 

Vincent took a walk around the block. God he wanted a cigarette. He’d thrown his pack out a few weeks back. He was done. At least he thought he was. 

He walked. The birds called overhead, reaching out to their friends, beckoning,  _ let’s go go where the sun shines and our family awaits us. _

Vincent wished he could go with them too. 

“Hey pretty boy!”   
Black choked his thoughts. He stopped, feet scuffling on the pavement.   
“What are you doing out here?” 

The voice was warm, and gentle. Vincent turned around. Chris was approaching him, teeth winking in the sun.   
Vincent heaved a giant breath. “Compliment me all you want, but please don't call me that.” 

“Okay, Pulchritudinous.”

“Is that even a word?” 

“Yeah, looked it up on my phone. Means beautiful.”  Chris was wearing a delicate polka dot 

button up, and a leather jacket. Which enveloped him completely in a sense. He looked menacing, buff shoulders and tattoos running up his arms. Then he smiled, and you noticed the dimples and the sky blue color of his eyes. “Im on break, wanna get something to eat? Or we could even just hang out at the shop” 

For the first time Vincent noticed the storefront he peeled by.  _ May Be Tattoo.  _

Vincent made his mind up. “I already ate but we can hang out.” 

Chris smiled again. Something fluttered in Vincent chest, it was startling. 

The store was sleek and minimal. Art work hung on the walls, each raw and abstract, curving lines and splattered paint to form a body there, maybe a bird here. There was a sitting area. There were four stations, each outfitted with a desk, a lamp, storage, a bench and stool, and a bed for the clients. Chris’ was on the right and in the front. He had a picture of Ritter and him taped to the mirror that hung over the desk. 

Gentle R&B murmured from over head speakers. A buzzing came from the bed across Chris’s area. A blue haired girl hunched over a blonde on the bed, she was getting something done on her shoulder. 

Chris introduced Vincent to Carter, a tattoo-less man with a thick southern drawl. He 

shook Vincent’s hand and clapped him on the back. “So you tryin’ to suck a free piece off of Chris or what?” The only help Vincent was offered was a tight lipped smile from Chris and a shrug. 

“No,” Vincent answered, taking the iced coffee Chris offered to him. “We’re just hanging out.” 

Carter nudged Chris. “You slut.” 

Chris shoved him back. “Anyways. This is Lila, Lila this is Vincent.” 

The blue haired girl looked up, she smiled at him. They all smiled so much. “So you’re Vincent. I’ve heard a lot about you today.” 

Chris wouldn’t look at Vincent. “You guys are blowing all my cover. You’re  _ supposed  _ to make me look cool.” 

Everyone ignored the comment Carter made about blowing things. 

Lila let out a cheerful laugh. “So Vincent where are you from?” 

“Washington.” 

“Idaho. Have you had any work done on you.” 

“No. My job wouldn't let me.” 

“Would you like some now?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Cool. We don’t give out discounts for family though. No matter what relation you have.” She grinned at Chris.

He piped up, “If it’s my art i’ll give any discount I want. They’d have to be really special though.” Chris walked by Vincent, heading off in the direction of his desk.. “It’s half off for you Vince.” 

Carter, who was also on break, fell into easy conversation. They talked for a awhile. Chris was just managing that day so he didn't have any clients. It allowed for good company. Vincent made himself comfortable on Chris’s wheely stool, and watched as Chris fiddled with his desk. He was messing with the note pad. Perhaps drawing something. His hair fell in front of his face, the sun framed it. Carter peppered Vincent with more questions. Vincent told him about the weather in California. There were moments when Vincent would watch the traffic outside for Joe’s murderous face, or looked down and remembered the shit show he was stuck in. But then Chris would say something and he would have to answer, and from that Carter would remember another story he wanted to tell him and Vincent would be mesmerized by the carelessness of it all. 

“So how did Chris charm you into hanging out with him?” The blue haired girl said looking up to Vincent. 

Vincent took a swig off of his drink and said, “‘So what’s your sob story?’” 

“Classic.” Carter said dreamily. “Maybe I should try it.” 

“Please, that only works on guys.” Chris’ voice was smug. “And only the ones with tragic backstories.” He flicked Vincent a look. 

Carter punched his arm lightly. It was a brotherly gesture. “Man stop ruining it.” 

“Oh!” Vincent said looking back up at Lila, “Princess Bride.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Really Chris you have to get new pick up lines. These ones are getting old.” 

“Why fix it if it’s not broken?” Chris shrugged. 

Vincent looked to him, “Do you really use that on everyone?” 

“Only the cute ones.” 

Vincent’s cheek warmed. 

They spent the rest of Chris’ hour break talking. It was nice, conversation and jokes firing back and forth. Chris and Carter got into a wrestling match in the middle of the shop -which consisted on Carter putting Chris in a headlock and messing up his hair until he cried uncle. Chris fixed his shirt after and said “I was trying to keep my hair nice.” 

Carter quipped, “Oh, yeah gotta keep it looking nice for Vince,” he jogged Vincent with his elbow, “maybe he likes it rugged.” 

“Do you?” Chris asked. 

Vincent laughed. “Depends on who’s asking.”  Chris watched him, a smile spreading across his cheeks. 

Carter’s break soon ended when his client came in. Chris stayed at his desk. He looked at Vincent, Vincent looked back. Finally Chris smiled and went back to his notepad.

They spent some more time talking. Vincent laughed a lot, Chris stared a lot. After Vincent threw away his bottle and said goodbye to Carter and Lila. They were good company but he need to get home and compose himself. He was running thin. Joe was playing games. 

Chris insisted on walking Vincent to his car. 

When they got to his car Chris waited on the curb. He looked...Pulchritudinous in the light. 

“Come back tomorrow?” He said. 

“Maybe.” Vincent said. 


	9. Half or Full...You Choose

“Do we want half gallon, or full gallon?” Roman stood but the fridge isle in the small grocery store. The fluorescent above washed everything out. It was Thursday night, one for cramming, seeing that as four of Roman’s classes had final tests before Winter break. It had been two weeks. Two weeks of living alone with Enzo, and not seeing his brother. Two weeks since the fated football game and end of the season. Winter break had snuck up on him like every year. Suddenly neighborhoods had Christmas decor out, and the forecast was looking as rainy as ever. Christmas wasn't for another two weeks. Roman wondered if he should get Enzo a gift. Was that his kind of thing? 

Ritter, the only one paying attention said, “Full gallons are cheaper.” 

However they never could manage to go through a full gallon before it went bad. Roman grabbed a half gallon. Over on the other end of the isle Enzo was balancing objects on his elbow. He was concentrating on it with a will power yet to be seen in any other aspect of his life. Ritter was smiling at him. She was wearing an impressive pair of heeled combat boots and her brother’s old college sweatshirt. Wisps of her blond hair escaped from her ponytail. “No, put it up higher.” She said, adjusting the chocolate on Enzo’s elbow. 

“Watch this.” Without hesitating Enzo tossed the Chocolate into the air and caught it with the same hand in one single quick and fluid motion. He smiled as he tore open the candy and put it into his mouth. 

They continued down the aisle. Enzo took the milk from Roman and wandered off. He was on a mission to find dried apple chips, they were pricey and he could eat an entire bag in minutes but Roman had to admit they were tasty. That left him and Ritter to actually shop. She hummed to the music in the store. 

At the cereal aisle she looked at him and said, “Chris told me you stopped by the house.” 

Roman took a second to think. Of course Chris told Ritter, it was a given. Both of them seemed to 

have this righteous path of trying to get Roman to make up with Vincent. It wasn't going to work, and at most it was infuriating. He didn't  _ want _ to talk to Vincent. There had been many times to talk to Roman in the past, and Vincent had thrown each one of those away. And then gone and betrayed Roman. “Yeah, we...talked.” 

“That’s good.” She shook her coffee cup. The ice rattled around. “What happened between you guys?”

Roman stopped, he turned to look at Ritter. She smiled and chewed on her straw. 

“What? It’s not a weird question. You guys are brothers-” 

“Be careful with that word. A brother wouldn't abandon me and become the very thing I was 

afraid of.”  He’d said to much. He turned and found something interesting to look at. Ritter didn't back down. 

“Still, it's not just because of ‘artistic differences’ that you guys hate each other, or at least you hate him.” She gestured at him. She was intrigued, this conversation wouldn’t end until she got what she was looking for. 

“That’s not the point.” 

“Maybe it is.” 

“Trust me. It’s not.” 

“Then what is?” 

Roman had enough. “The point is that he’s a bastard with no thought as to how anybody else feels. The fucking point it that he almost killed me doing what he did, and he can't see that. It’s that I can’t go into the doctors without having a panic attack, or touch vitamins. It’s that I’m stuck here, trying to piece together a life I don't want, while he’s god knows where making money for breathing.” Suddenly everything was bubbling to the surface again. He was angry, he didn't want to be but he was always angry. At everything. “I had to find my dad dead in a tub and he never batted an eye. And when I became a distraction, when I tried to get his attention, when I called out for help he sent me away. He left me for drugs. That is the fucking point.”   
Roman remembered the feeling of his father’s skin against him: slick, cold, dead. He was gone. He mother stopped breathing, his father downed the pill and drifted away. And Vincent decided he wasn't worth the time. The only person he had left to hang on to him was driving a knife through his chest. And god it burned him straight through. 

The day his father died was like the end of suffering. Roman had paced before, in his bedroom hands gripped in his hair. Wondering, asking, begging. What was going to happen, where was he going, what was he doing? Everything was slipping away, was disappearing, was changing. And then he knocked on the bathroom door. No one answered. He tried the knob. It was locked. Something tightened in side him, like a warning. In a way he knew what lay on the other side of the door. In a way he’d already seen the damage. He shoved on the door, desperate. He threw himself against it.   
When it opened everything stopped. His father lay broken, pale, wet. Other was a good word for it. Because it wasn’t Roman’s father, that person had left when the doctors pulled the plug on his mother. 

The first thing Roman did was scream. 

The second thing was pull his dad’s body from the tub. Water spilled. It coated him, soaking into 

his clothes and under his skin. He felt queasy, he felt torn. He shook his dad’s body. David’s head lolled back. His mouth crack open in a dead scream. His eyes were open. 

He was gone. He was gone.  

Roman cried. He cried for his mom. He cried for his dad. He cried for all the times they tucked 

him in. Or all the times his parent’s danced in the living room. He cried for the warmth inside his chest. 

Ritter spoke softly. “He’s trying to find you Roman. Give him some light.” 

“Why should I?” 

Ritter shook her cup at him. It startled him and got his attention on Ritter, “You cannot hate your brother forever, because truth is the only reason you are pissed of in the first place is because you are hurt. You want to know the funny thing about wounds Roman? They heal. So if you don’t hurry up and get your shit figured out Vincent will walk out of your life, and before you know it, you won't hurt anymore but you’ll be bitter. Bitter because you threw away a brother who did nothing,  _ nothing,  _ but love you.” 

Roman turned to face her abruptly. He was itching to yell but he hushed himself. “You don't know what you’re talking about.”  It was a warning. It was Roman bubbling over. He was done with everything. 

“Tell that to Chris.” Only then did Roman noticed the wet in her eyes. She scowled at him. “My brother has always been there for me. When we were little, when I was arrested, when my grandma died. He’s always,  _ always  _ stood up for me. And there have been times -believe me- when I couldn't see that. When I was so sad, or mad, or stubborn that I hurt him. But in the end none of it mattered. I love him, and he loves me. And everyday I grow more happy I let him into my life. Maybe you should stop thinking with your dick for one second and instead ask yourself what really matters. Holding onto anger, or having an actual relationship with your  _ brother _ .” 

“I can't do that when it affects Enzo. He doesn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t be hunted because Vincent fucked up.” Roman thought about adding that Vincent had done all this. That Vincent had lead his past into their life, and muddied their happiness with his own bad choices. But that was clear. It was written in Roman expression. He was afraid. He was terrified. If Enzo ended up like his father, or his mother -all casualties of Vincent’s behavior- then he would never be able to look his brother in the eye. Which scared him even more. “I have to keep him safe. I can't lose him too.” 

“Who?” Roman spun around. Triumphantly Enzo lifted his apple chips into the air. “Found em’” he was golden, even in the harsh light. His hair was wavy and his cheeks were rosy.   
Before Enzo got close Ritter whispered, “You’ll lose him anyway if you don't stop being angry.” 


	10. Cars, Cuff Links and Backseats

Going to the shop became a habit. Chris didn’t ask and Vincent didn't ask, but he always ended up sitting in Chris’ backroom in the afternoon. It was good company. Chris’s bright smile and easy tone made Vincent current life crisis easier to handle. Joe never called him, and Vincent didn't see the car. But it haunted him. He felt bad. Knowing that this thing, whatever it was, wasn’t going to work out but continuing to visit Chris. Chris knew. He could tell, just in the way that Vincent hesitated before every word, after every gaze. When Chris reached over and took Vincent’s arm he heard the catch in his throat. “Can I?” he asked gesturing to Vincent’s sleeve. Thankfully he nodded. Chris nudged up his sleeve. The thoughts in Vincent’s mind ravaged, endless possibilities that sparked fear deep inside him. But then Chris uncapped a sharpie and drew lines upon lines across his forearm. They were sharp, raw and confusing. 

Carter cooled down a bit. His jokes slowly ceased once he realized just how weird their relationship was. They liked each other, that was clear with the endless glances and frequent flirting Chris did, but they remained separate.   
Which was okay. 

All around it was nice to have someone so sunny. Chris was uncomplicated. His truth was written 

across his skin like his tattoos. He loved his sister. He liked his job. He thought Vincent was cute. Things were simple. 

And then like a black hole, sucking hope from Vincent a car pulled up to the curb. 

From his perch on Chris’ stool Vincent could see the traffic outside. He saw the moment the car  stopped and decided to park next to the curb. When it did his heart fell to the floor. Chris was standing next to him, babbling about something.  Vincent stood and excused himself. He didn’t catch Chris’s expression but he could tell it was concerned. Ignoring it he pushed open the front door. Cold winter wind whipped around him. 

Once he stepped outside the window to the car rolled down. 

“Hey pretty boy.”  

Vincent froze. It could have been Chris. Vincent could have looked to his right and Chris would 

have smiled at him and it would have been okay. But it wasn't. It wasn’t and Vincent didn't know what to do with himself.

Joe looked like an omen. And a bad one at that. He smiled through the open window. His eyes were blue but dead, his grin was crooked. Slowly the smile faded and he said firmly. “Get in.” 

He got in. The car was like it always was, clean, black. Vincent didn't put his seat belt on. Joe 

remained parked on the block. Vincent wondered if Chris was looking out the window, if he was wondering what in the hell Vincent was doing. He pushed the thought away.  Everything was blurry, it all moved slowly. Vincent was shriveled. Joe watched him. His eyes scanned for any sign. His wrists were covered in angry red marks. Round, scabbed and blistered. They were like an accessory on him. “Been a long time. How have you been?” His voice rolled out of him like a storm over the skies. It was chilly. 

Vincent didn't have it in him to reply. Everything came flooding back to him. They usually operated as equals. Except when Joe was angry, then Joe would shove and push Vincent however he wanted. This was one of those times. 

“Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn? I'm here to talk.” Joe shifted in his seat. 

Vincent looked at him. It was like all the other times. Except he saw something different flash in 

his gaze. “Why are you here?” He voice came out surprisingly firm. 

“Were family while else would I come visit?” Joe always used that against him.  _ Were family. _

“You are my past, not my family.” 

Joe laughed at that. It was an awful sound, choked by countless cigarettes. “I'm more than that 

baby.” He reached over and brushed Vincent’s cheek with his fingers. Vincent swallowed the whimper in his throat. “Don't you remember? No? What a shame,” he clucked. “Should I _jog_ your memory?” 

“I don't want anything from you.” Vincent spurted out before Joe could get any closer. “I never have, so just leave me alone.” 

Joe considered Vincent, his hand still lingered on his face. It went to cup the base of his neck. 

“You should have thought about that before. You wanted everything, And I gave it.  I gave you a good job, a house, a girlfriend -though you didn’t make much use of her- food. Even the boss liked you, and you know that’s a rarity.” 

Vincent hated it all. The way Joe stared at him. They marks on his wrist. The smell of the car. Memories came flooding back, ones of pain, and white on the edges of his vision as Joe just said, _ you deserve this.  _ Finally Vincent reached up and tore Joe’s hand away. “I was good at my job. Maybe if you spent less time fussing over getting your dad to like you and more on what you actually moved out there to do he would stop beating you.” 

Joe rubbed at his wrist. Vincent had grabbed it. For a moment Vincent thought that was it. That Joe would grab him and shove him down into the backseat and take him apart. He thought that he’d messed up. _You fucked up Vincent,_ Roman growled in his ear. But Joe just scowled at his steering wheel, his jaw was clamped shut, veins popped up underneath his skin. Finally he grunted and then started, “I have an offer for you.” This, this was much worse than the other option. “One you will take Vincent I hope you know that. Come back to work with me, and i’ll give you half of my cut. Plus I’ll throw you a bone, you get one pass on my games a month. Let’s call it a ‘get out of bed free card’. What do you say?” When he was finished Joe smiled and fixed the cuff link on his suit. 

“No.” 

He looked almost exasperated. Only for a second, because it was quickly followed by a laugh. It was a tense one. Like before it edged nowhere near real. “You’re funny. Tell you what, I’ll give you two thirds of my paycheck.” 

It was a bit alarming, Joe had always obsessed over the money. But Vincent moved past that. “No.” 

“You really want to play that game?” Joe was growing more tense. Vincent was toeing a close line. He had to balance Joe’s anger and his own needs. If he said the wrong thing, if he sent Joe a wrong look he’d find himself in deeper trouble.  
“My home is here.” 

“No your problems are here. He doesn't love you.”  _ He  _ referred to Roman. It always had. “Why do you fight so hard for him? He’s never gonna forgive you. But me? Me? Im offering almost the paycheck of two employees and you have the nerve to decline it. You say i'm your past but  _ Roman  _ is your past. He’s just an orphan who your were just unlucky enough to get stuck with.” 

The truth was, even if Roman didn't want him Vincent still didn't want what Joe was giving. “Maybe. But you certainly aren’t my future Joe.” 

Joe snarled, “I can make you my future. Do you want me to do that?”

“I'm not working with you again.” 

In that moment Vincent knew that is exactly what Joe wanted. He didn't want Vincent as a companion, he didn't want him as a toy, he wanted him to work for his father. He knew this because Joe said, “I see. This isn't about Roman.” Vincent looked up, he furrowed his brow. Joe answered when he saw the alarm on Vincent’s face. “This is about Chris.” 

The breath in Vincent’s voice caught. It choked him. It took a few beat for him to answer, “How do you know about him?” 

“He’s cute. Running a nice shop.” At that moment Joe tugged down his loose collar, a tattoo red and irritated had been buried underneath his skin. It was Chris’s art. Vincent recognized some of it from the sharpie still on his arm. “He’s packing too.” 

Anything was better than this. _Not him_. _Not him, please not him._ Vincent wanted to reach over and tear the ink from his skin. It burned his eyes.  “Fuck you.” Was the most he managed.

“Oh you will.” Joe answered with genuine delight. He reached over quickly. His hands were hard, they gripped Vincent’s cheek like they always had. Joe’s mouth was cruel against Vincent’s, his tongue was slick and it tore him apart. “Now,” Joe said with a wet pop, “do me a favor and get out of my car.” 

Vincent did. 

Before he could walk to the curb Joe called to him again through the open window. 

Vincent could still taste him. Tobacco. Desperation. 

“Fair warning, keep an eye on your friends and family Vincent,” his voice was haunting for the last part, “Or they might just disappear.” 

With a cackle and the squeal of his tires Joe pulled away. 

The sound of his laugh echoed in Vincent’s mind. 

 

-

There was a knock at Vincent’s door. 

He set his remote down. He’d been flipping through channels on his more than not-compact TV for a while now and still hadn’t found much. So he padded over to the door. The city lights streaked through the wide windows of Vincent’s apartment. It was dark outside but no one was asleep, the city thrummed below. The Floor was cold under his bare feet. The door clicked when Vincent opened it. 

Jonathan- Joe, he’d just recently changed his name and Vincent was having trouble getting used to it- stood on the other side. His shirt was only buttoned up to a low button. His pale skin shone underneath the dark fabric. “Hi.” He said like it was a secret. 

Vincent nodded. “What do you need?” 

It was late. They both had an early meeting with Joe’s father the next day, and Joe was never privy to slacking or late night visits. He shrugged. 

Vincent cracked the door open. “What happened?” 

Joe avoided his stare.   
Vincent reached out and took Joe’s wrist. Joe turned his head. His sleeve was easy to hike up. Large fiery spots marked up the length of  Joe’s arm. 

Their eyes met in the light. “Can I come in?” Joe asked. 

Vincent opened the door, Joe came inside. The door clicked shut. The air was cool, and every sound felt amplified. “What did you tell him?” 

“Nothing.” Vincent said. 

“Promise?” 

“I didn't say anything to your father.” taking a moment Vincent decided his next words carefully. “Do you ever regret coming here?”

“No.” Joe said without thought. He was still facing the large windows that looked over the busy L.A streets. 

“I do.” 

“Why?” He said with a laugh. Like it should be anyone's dream to have this life. Living in a sterile and cold apartment you never felt like you belonged in. Having your brother hate you and your parents gone. Having your only company someone you vowed never to spend time outside of school with because they were too cruel, and mean. And lastly to top it off; your boss being even worse than your most hated companion.

“Because it’s not what I wanted.” 

“But you needed it.”

Vincent looked up into the recesses of his apartment. He thought of Roman. The last time he’d seen him he had a bowl haircut and still red eyes and a screwed mouth. His chin hair had just started to come in. “Yeah.”

Joe turned around quickly. His lips collided with Vincent’s before he could stop it. Joe’s hand went to grasp Vincent’s face. Vincent shoved him off.

“Get off me.” He said louder and more fierce than he meant to, “What the hell!”  Joe stumbled. He appeared either drunk or like he’d been shot because the little force Vincent had pushed him with sent him tumbling to the ground. His fingers splayed across the pale tiles. He was dark in his clothes and the shadow filled apartment. Joe’s shoulders shook. 

Vincent wanted to take it back. 

“I didn't mean it like that.”   
Something was changing in Joe because his reply was low and harsh. “Did you?” 

Vincent inched closer to the man on the floor. “No I just...well if your father figures out that \you’re...he’ll hurt you.” 

Joe’s face whirled around to stare at Vincent, his eyes were puffy and he spit when he yelled, “He’s already done that!”   
Vincent jerked back. 

Joe was a hurdling train, there was no way to stop him. He bared his teeth as he struggled to stand. Vincent took another step back.   
“Joe, I'm just trying to-” 

“No. There’s nothing you can do to stop this. He already knows. He fucking  _ knows  _ Vincent.” 

“I'm sorry-”   
“No you’re not!” He gnashed at Vincent like a feral dog. He stood up.“You’re probably the one who told him in the first place! You fucking liar!” Joe charged him.

Instead of a fist or a slap or a knee to the groin his mouth slammed into Vincent's. Vincent tried to pry him off but Joe was strong, and determined and angry. Teeth collided with teeth as Joe forcibly parted Vincent’s mouth. 

Vincent squirmed all over. His intestines shuddered. 

Joe’s hands gripped Vincent’s wrists. He broke the kiss. He said fierce but all around broken,  “Just make this easy, please.” He was begging. Vincent heard the cigar burns on his wrists in his voice.

They never talked about it. Vincent distanced himself more and more. Joe stopped getting the beatings. Maybe because his father thought that he’s succeeded in the burning the innocent admiration for boys out of him. However the abuse for other things continued.

One day Vincent helplessly watched as Eli Cooper slammed his fist into the table and then shoved his desk full of things onto the floor. He was screaming at Joe.  _ Incompetence.  _ Eli called it. Eli much rather prefer Vincent for some odd reason.

Composer thin Joe stood with his hands in front and his head down as his father tore him apart. “How in the hell did you lose an entire goddamn pallet worth of product!” Eli’s usually handsome face was a ruin in the anger. “Are you just so goddamn retarded that you cant even do your fucking job? Why in the hell did I even bring you here?” 

His voice filled to room. 

Vincent tried not to watch. 

“It wasn't lost. Vincent got it back.” 

“Yes Joe I fucking know he did. He’s the only goddamn person in this business that does any actual work other than me.” 

Joe didn't answer. Vincent swallowed. 

“You should have stayed with your mother. You would have been worth something with her, scrubbing toilets, or smoking yourself to death. Wait you already do that. Get out of my face.” 

Joe turned and walked back to where Vincent was standing.

“I wish you had been my son.” Eli said to Vincent. 

Vincent tried not to look at Joe when he said, “Thank you sir.” 

That night Joe forced Vincent into the bed and held him down until he cried out. Vincent begged him to stop to slow down, to pause for one second so he could think. He didn’t.  


	11. Enz-Oh No

“I’m scared.”

Currently Enzo was laying on top of Roman. It was unknown to both of them how it happened but they fell like that and now they were going to stay like that. The fire popped, wind blew hard against the old windows. It whistled through the house. Slowly Enzo tightened his arms around Roman, Roman ran more fingers through his hair. 

“I feel like something’s happening.” 

“Well after what  _ has  _ happened I think that’s completely valid.” 

“No, something else.”

At that Roman lifted his head. He made a confused face. “What are you talking about then?” 

Enzo took a moment to think about it. The whole feeling was hard to place because it was merely that. A  _ Feeling. _ Capital F. “I don't know what it is.” 

At that moment the front door burst open.   
Roman jerked from his place on the couch, Enzo shot up -still sitting on Roman- to look at the front door. 

“Roman, Enz-oh!” It was Chris, and Ritter. Both of them looked slightly flustered. 

“Hello.” Enzo said sarcastically bright. Roman groaned underneath him. 

Chris placed his hand in front of Ritter’s eyes. “We can leave...if you want.” Ritter mumbled a 

genuine thank you to her brother.

Enzo looked down at Roman and smiled. He looked all around grumpy. “No.” Roman pushed 

Enzo all the way off him and stood up. Casually Enzo tried to follow suit but he tripped of the blanket they’d abandoned on the floor. He went down face first and saw the carpet barreling towards him. Roman caught him by the arm, braced for impact. He straightened himself, and then to Roman’s horror said, “Man you guys are awfully good cock blockers.” 

Before Roman could protest, saying “That is not what we were doing at all.” Chris replied, “Were trying to keep Roman from getting pregnant.” 

Roman, disturbed by the direction of the conversation said, “Disgusting.” Next to him Enzo went, “Nice.” Roman neatly elbowed Enzo. 

“Hey!” He protested rubbing his side. “Next time i’ll leave your zipper down.” 

Roman quickly glanced down at his jeans. Dumbly he noted, once he got a glace, that there was no way his zipper would have been down. He turned to Enzo, “Next time i’ll let you fall.” 

Ritter shouted behind her brother’s hand. “Can I come out now?” 

“Oh yeah.” Chris put his hand down.

The first thing she said when she looked at them was, “You two are sluts.” 

Enzo yelled, “Hey!” 

“Hey Enzo, should I really make karma for dinner because i'm not sure if you like the taste of it.” Roman piped in. “Thanks Ritter.” 

“No problem.” Her grin was sharp. 

“Anyways, why are you guys here?” 

Vincent came out of the kitchen.

Enzo noticed how Roman rolled his eyes but he couldn't stop looking at Vincent. This Vincent was like the one he’d seen in the closet. It was drug dealing Vincent. It was all of him shoved down into one place in order to see reason and logic. It was problem solving Vincent. He rubbed a finger underneath his chin as he stared off out the window. Finally he said, “Enzo there is something you need to know.” 

Chris mumbled something to Ritter. She said something back. He looked beyond concerned, he looked almost confused. “Vincent are you okay?” 

Vincent turned to him. With blank eyes he said, “You two need to go upstairs.” 

“No.” It was Ritter, and Chris. Though Chris sounded more desperate, and Ritter more stubborn. She took a step forwards. Vincent watched her. “Were not leaving until you tell us why you dragged us out here, why you made Chris cancel and entire session. Why I had to up and leave at your call. We deserve to know.  _ Chris _ deserves to know.” 

“Vincent what the hell did you do?” Roman said. 

Vincent looked to him, eyes wild. “Shut the hell up Rome.” 

Enzo caught Roman’s arm and squeezed. “Now is not the time.”

“Now is the best time! I told him to fix this and here he is, problem obviously not solved.” Roman ripped his arm away, he took two quick steps towards his brother. “Remember what I told you? Remember?” 

Chris chose then to intervene. “Roman back off!” He growled. He approached too, but instead of going to Vincent he went to stand between him and Roman. Roman, shoulders shaking slightly didn't back down. 

Enzo felt abandoned. Suddenly he was standing outside of the circle everyone else had made around Vincent. “Vincent just tell me.” 

Everyone turned to look at him. 

His voice was calm. Everyone else’s had been a snarl or a jab and his was just...a Feeling. “Vincent, tell me.” From across the room Vincent caught his eye. Something flickered underneath his cool expression. Fear. It was buckets and buckets of fear all sloshing around in his brown gaze. Enzo saw Roman in those eyes. But instead of lashing out, Vincent tucked it all away. 

Vincent started to talk. “It’s about your father.” 

Roman made a terrible sound. Chris glared at him. 

Before he started he said, dragging his gaze over everyone, “If I tell you this, the danger all of you are in will be solidified. There’s no going back. And you mustn't tell  _ anyone.  _ Knowing this does anyone want to leave?” 

Ritter crossed her arms, Chris just watched Vincent.

Vincent turned back to Enzo. “Patrick Abbott runs a drug ring. Not the one I worked for but he is one of our -their- rivals.” In away Enzo already knew this. It was one of those thing you knew but didn't know you knew. Vincent searched Enzo’s eyes for sign of shock, when he didn't find it he continued, “A few months ago Abbott’s group broke in a stole thousands of dollars worth of product, and along with that has been chipping off territory. The group I worked for is falling apart, which is part of the reason I got out of there. Part.” He flicked Roman a glance. Roman at this point was staring at Enzo. “Joe, Jonathan. His father runs the circle. He’s the big boss, he decides where everything goes, how much, when, to who. My job was negation and money handling. I calculated the cost of everything and how much each buyer should pay. I was good, probably the best. I made more money for that business than everyone combined. However, if i'm not there they lose money, lots.” Fear reappeared. Enzo saw it burn him. “That’s why Joe is here. He wants me to work for them again, and Joe is used to getting what he wants. That’s why he attacked you. Because your the son of the man who caused all this. Because I would know. Because he wants me to be scared.” 

“Are you?” Ritter asked.

“No,” Vincent replied, “for myself. But for all of you, I am.” He looked at Chris. The fear caught fire.

Before anything else could happen. Before Enzo could ask more questions, Roman flung himself at Vincent. 

“I fucking told you to handle this.” 

Vincent reeled back. 

There would have been blood. There would have been bruises. Like earlier this year, when Vincent and him first got into the fight. But Chris caught Roman by the shoulder. Quickly he jerked his hand back, the movement reverberated through Roman. He fell onto the ground. hard. He wheezed a breath, and then coughed. For a moment it looked as if he had been contained but then he was getting up. He was trying to stand. Chris slammed a knee into his abdomen. Enzo winced. Roman almost yelped as he fell back down. 

“Calm down.” Chris said. 

Roman spit at him. “I’m calm.” 

“Well then take a fucking nap.” Chris straightened his shirt. 

Roman let out a frustrated breath, Enzo watched him. There was that Feeling again. Strong and overpowering. He couldn’t look at Roman. He couldn’t watch as his face was muddled with anger and fear. It was exhausting. Finally he tore himself away. He ran outside, front door slamming behind him. He stomped down the steps, he hit the gravel. He kept going. Anything, anything to get away. 

His dad. 

Joe. 

Roman.

They all looked the same. 

He went to the car. He pressed his head against the freezing metal. The cold air whipped around him, stealing his heat. He shivered. The smells of the woods, and the car, and the old house and the gravel he was standing on all muddied together. He breathed slow. 

The front door opened again, it closed more gracefully than it had with Enzo. The steps were knocked against by a pair of heeled combat boots. “Men.” Ritter said coming to lean against the car. 

Enzo chuckled. 

Ritter smiled. “You have to forgive him.” 

Lifting his head off the car Enzo gave Ritter a look. 

“Roman. You have to forgive Roman. We all see it accept for him. But that is only with good reason. Vincent hurt him. Like no other. But Roman doesn’t see Vincent as human. He’s not like you and I, he doesn't have feelings. Vincent cannot be hurt, scared, happy, And even if he is, it is only to hurt Roman.” She paused to kick at the ground with her boot. “Forgive him. But not until he forgives Vincent.” 

Enzo swallowed. He nodded. 

Ritter gestured towards the door. “Now go inside. It’s cold.” 

Pushing himself off the car Enzo scuffled inside. Ritter must have been staying outside to get something from her car. He shut the door behind him. Vincent was standing by the fireplace. His hands were outstretched, Chris stood by him. His eyes wandered over him. Vincent still had his game face on. When Enzo walked by him he cast Enzo a glance. There were a thousand questions in his burning stare.   
“What do we do?” Enzo asked him. “You know them most of all. How do we fix this?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. 

Chris looked to Vincent like he already knew the answer. 

Before anyone could answer Ritter screamed.


	12. A Man and Only That

Chris was the first one to move. He pelted out of the house. 

Enzo looked to Vincent. Vincent looked back. 

They followed. 

Enzo burst out into the cold air once again. The sun blinded him. He squinted. Was Ritter still screaming? Or was that him imagining it?

“What the fuck?” Chris thundered. He was wielding a fire poker. Enzo followed his line of vision. 

Ritter stood in the middle of the driveway. Patrick was behind her, a dark figure. He held a knife, it was a meaty thing. Long, wide, curved and jaded on one side. It was a hunting knife. His hand shook. “What the fuck.” Chris said again. He stammered. 

Vincent moved up behind him. “Chris.” He said softly. 

Enzo watched his father. His father. Patrick was back, but he was only the shadow of the man 

he’d once been. Even after the car accident he was not as... broken as he appeared now. His hair was long and greasy, his eyes were tired. His mouth twisted in a cruel trembling line. Chris took a few hurried steps forward. Vincent did nothing. Across the gravel Patrick jerked back on the blade. 

“Chris fucking stop.” Ritter belted her voice raw. She scowled at her brother. 

He stopped. His knuckles were white around the fire poker. 

At that moment Enzo heard a great pounding from inside the house. It was Roman, barreling down the steps. Enzo watched him as he came racing out of the house and down the steps. Roman’s eyes scanned his, then they slit to the driveway. Enzo saw -no felt, the moment Roman realized everything. He immediately moved up to Enzo. Only then did Roman realize he was holding a bat. 

Vincent broke Enzo’s trance. He was yelling, “Chris fucking stop! Stop!” Chris was walking, he was stalking towards Patrick his hands and the poker raised above his head. “Stop or he’ll fucking hurt her.” 

“How do you know that?” He hissed through gritted teeth. 

The next part came from Enzo, “Because he almost killed Roman.” Blue eyes met blue. Enzo held the gaze Chris offered. Chris stopped moving. Beside Enzo Roman shook. His eyes were watery and hard. In that moment he was more dangerous than Chris, he looked as if he was going to murder Patrick. 

The Feeling was back. It nagged. It poked, it edged it flicked it tick tick ticked. The end, the future. Patrick Abbott, and his son. And the bastard child. If he looked down Enzo would have seen bruises, he would have seen his skin shattered by cuts and marks.  _ I’m scared.  _ Tightly he said, “Why are you here?” Why.  _ Why did you hit me? Why did you give me away? Why are you here? Why do you hang on me, you’re hurting me, please stop hurting me. Let me go. Let me go.  _

“You know why.” Patrick said. He sounded tired. 

_ Because I want too. Because you deserve this too.  _

Enzo was ten. His father gripped his arm and wrenched it back. He heard the pop before he felt it. And then it coursed through him. Burning searing white blinding pain. He screamed. Patrick slapped him for that. But it was the heartache the hurt the worse. It was the tingle all over his skin. The shame, that his father was who he was. That he was born to this man. 

Patrick caught a handful of Ritter’s hair and screwed it back. Enzo felt a pain in his shoulder. He reached up and grasped his arm. Ritter gritted her teeth. She didn't make a sound. 

Chris charged. The iron tool flashed it’s teeth above his head. Vincent was there. He caught Chris’ shoulder, just barely. The momentum was too much. Both of them fell forward. Chris landed on his hand and knees. The fire poker skidded a few feet away. Vincent scuffled forwards quickly. Desperately he hooked his hand on Chris’ collar and dragged him back to the porch. Roman moved up once they got there and held Chris’ forearm. He fought. He cursed and howled with anger. But Vincent leaned in and cupped his cheeks. “Stop.” He said. “The only way to help her is to stop.” 

For a second it looked as if he wouldn't. But then he blinked and he let out a breath and stopped. Warily Roman let go of his arm, however his brother stayed by Chris. 

Ritter looked absolutely and positively pissed. “Chris stop thinking with your dick!” 

Chris said nothing.   
Roman tapped his bat in his hands. 

Vincent looked to Enzo. “What is this about. Why is he here?” 

Enzo was still watching his father. He was watching the blade shine in the sun. He was watching Ritter’s determined eyes and her unrelentless grip on Patrick’s arms. She watched back. How was she doing that? How was she still standing, how was she still fighting? She looked as if she was almost about to smile. Enzo could crack a joke and fake a smile but her’s? Her’s was genuine and strong and brilliant. “The video. The video, he’s here for the video.” 

“Let this go Patrick!” Roman barked, “It’s over. Enzo kept his word. Killing her? It’s not worth it.” 

Patrick twisted his handful of Ritter’s hair. She hissed through her teeth. “What do you know about it! Tell me it’s not worth it! Tell me!” He wildly shook her head. There was something unleashed and uncontrollable about him. Enzo thought about Alexis.  _ Put him in a fucking coma. _ He remembered the sting of his hand after he punched Patrick. The grit and pain and joy and freedom hidden in that moment. He saw Ritter’s smile. 

Pushing Roman aside Enzo stepped forwards. 

Chris growled a warning behind him but he ignored it. 

“You hurt her, you won't die. I can promise you that.” He said. 

“What the fuck Enzo yes he will.” Chris protested. 

“No he wont!” Enzo shouted over his shoulder but not aggressively. He looked to his father, his sad broken father. “You won’t die.” He took another step. He kept walking as he spoke. “You will stay alive. Vincent, over here, he’ll make sure of it.” 

Vincent, the only one who had caught on so far said, “He’s right Patrick.”Chris made a wounded sound. Ritter smiled. 

“If you hurt her. If you so much as spill a drop of her blood, Chris will try and kill you, yes, but you won't die. No.” He felt every hit, every punch and every demeaning jaded and crippling word. “Vincent works for the cartel you just so happened to be enemies with. He’s the second to their boss. He’s the heir to the entire company. What do you’ll think he’d do with that power, to you, someone who hurt someone under his protection. Oh you’ll suffer.  You will lose. You will  _ rot.  _ And then when you have been thrown out, and shipped off, and left to the fleas the abuse will not end. Because Vincent will pick you, and he’ll burn you. He’ll break your arms, and  _ smash your head into a fucking window _ until you wish you were dead. And then he’ll sit there and watch, watch as you crawl to the door, and maybe leave you on the pavement to freeze for the night. You won't die, we won't kill you. No, you will have killed yourself.” 

Every line in Patrick’s body shook. 

Ritter’s grin was all Enzo could see. 

They were feet apart. 

Softly he said, “He’ll do everything you did to me. But the thing is, dad, you don't have it in you to make it through. No dad, you’ll shrivel up and die just like you already are.”

Everything was quiet. Enzo could see his father now. A man. Only a man. 

“You’ve met Eli, once or twice. Just imagine what I would do to you.” Vincent added. “You hurt her, you hurt Chris, you hurt Roman, you hurt Enzo and i’ll break every bone in your body.”

“You fucking liar! You all are cowards and I know it!” 

Vincent laughed. It was surprising and Enzo almost looked behind him but he held his father’s weak gaze. “Oh Patrick. I’ve murdered people before.”

Enzo whipped around. Vincent stood in front of Chris and Roman, face hard and unreadable. 

Roman watched his brother, horrified.

Vincent ignored all their reactions.“The little Jonas boy? The one who broke into the office. The one you sent, mentored, raised after you shipped your own son off. He was my recruitment job. I put a gun to his head and blew his brains onto the wall on the other side.” 

Enzo suddenly felt a fire catch inside him. He felt the sting on a punch on his fist. He turned back 

around to meet his father’s gaze.  

The knife Patrick held was pointed towards Vincent. It shook lightly. 

Suddenly there was a flash of movement. Ritter brought her impressive boot between Patrick's leg. It slammed into his crotch. Apparently he wasn’t expecting that because he dropped the knife and keeled over. Ritter darted out of his grasp. She dove for the fire poker a few steps away. Once in her hand she swung back around to face her assaulter before he could recover. Without hesitation she brought the thick iron stick up over her head. Patrick was clutching at his stomach and wheezing horribly. She brought it down on his back. He collapsed onto his stomach. 

There was a great cloud of dust. The wind whipped it away.   
Ritter kicked the knife over from Patrick’s searching fingers. Immediately Chris darted towards it, clutching it in his white knuckled grip. The siblings shared a glance as Chris came forward. “Don’t.” She said, glaring at the knife. 

Enzo felt frozen. Like he should know what to do with himself. Something touched his arm. Enzo spun around. It was only Roman. He was still holding the bat but his other hand went to entwine Enzo’s. Enzo let out a small breath. 

With a ruthless boot Ritter flipped Patrick over. She placed the tip of her makeshift weapon onto his chest. It was right above his chest. She pressed on it. He groaned. “Get your vile excuse for a father out of here before you have to crawl all the way to Nevada.” 

She took the knife from Chris and flung it towards the road. It landed with a clatter. Ritter took and step back, and with her, herded Chris back too. 

Patrick got to his feet. As a parting statement said, “Your mother would be disappointed.” 

Ritter smiled and tapped the fire poker against her shoulder. “No my mamma would be proud. Now run along before a give her call and make sure you really know not to hit women.” 

Patrick sent a glance over to Enzo. Roman squeezed his hand. “Fag.” He turned and limped down the driveway. 

Everyone watched tensely as he disappeared down the drive. It wasn’t until they heard his car peel away that they let out a breath. Ritter heaved a sigh and dropped the stick. She flung herself at Enzo. Her arms were wound tight around him and she buried her face in his neck.   
“Thank you.” She said. “You’re amazing.” 


	13. Please Call Me Pretty

“You have to leave.” 

Everything was quiet. The fire popped, Ritter scoffed. She was sitting on the couch, eyes haunted as she watched the orange flames dance. Her brother sat next to her. His blond hair was a fierce force in the dark, his eyes swam with questions. Vincent could feel them, they all swarmed around him. Part of him worried, fussed over Chris.  _ Please tell me you don't care. Please call me handsome. Please look. Just look at me goddammit.  _

He’d just told them all things he never thought he would. He just spilled his guts out. Joe, Patrick, the drugs. The Jonas boy. It was all out. He had no secrets left to tell.  Well he had one. 

Ritter sat up. She looked at Vincent. He was standing next to the fire, where he could look out the window. Roman and Enzo had retreated up stairs. They had taken the bat with them. When Roman had whisked him upstairs he had been a bit teary eyed, evidence of his shakiness. That had been hours ago and it was dark outside. A silent check performed by Ritter confirmed that both of them were asleep in their bed. Enzo needed rest after this whole thing. Truth was Vincent felt like he was going to pass out. “The last thing i'm going to do is leave Vincent.” Ritter said, 

Chris looked to his sister. He opened his mouth, then closed it. 

Vincent tried to make his words as convincing as possible. “Joe, he’s” He faltered. He knew what Joe was, but Ritter was looking at him. She was looking at him like she would and live in die the choices she made. He needed to try though. “Joe is a  _ horrible _ person. He won't stop until he gets what he wants. He will use and ruin and hurt until I go with him. He knows what you both mean to me, he’s not stupid, and he will use that against me. So I ask for both of our sakes, please, please leave.”

Chris watched his lap, face pensive. 

Ritter stared deep inside Vincent. “No.” 

“Chris.” Vincent begged. He took a step forwards. Chris abruptly shifted. Vincent stopped. 

“We -I- will not abandon you Vincent.” Ritter said. “And Chris wont either.” 

It was all too much. His head pounded. Joe snickered in his ear, Patrick flashed in the corners of his vision. Chris smiled and Ritter stood her ground. He hid his face in his hand, he was trying to think but everything inside his mind was to loud. “You will get hurt.” 

“Shut up Vince.” 

He looked up. Chris’ eyes were steady.   
“We’re fucking staying. You need us, we need you.” 

“If he hurts you Chris, I-I, shit I don't know what I’d do. But that cannot happen.” 

“If he hurts me, it will not be your fault. And I am not your brother, I will forgive you.” 

He was wrong. He was wrong. “I won't let you.” 

Chris stood up. Vincent could smell the vanilla on him. “This isn’t your choice. Many things are, but this,” he waved a finger between them, “this is not.” His breath was hot against Vincent’s cheek. They were close enough that Vincent could see all the little flecks in Chris’ eyes. Slowly, Chris took his hand Vincent let him. It was soft, gentle, slow.  He looked down at it and smiled. All his teeth winked at Vincent like that first night in the bedroom. He studied Vincent, “I’m here, however you want me. I’m here. Fully.”

Whether is was the smile. Whether it was the grounding feeling of Chris’s skin against his own. Whatever it was every ounce of argument Vincent left in him dissolved into Chris’ blue eyed stare. His hand slipped away.

Ritter stood up. “It’s settled then.” She remarked and stomped off upstairs. “I’m going to go set up the beds.” 

Slowly Vincent turned back to the fire. It still blazed, and Chris’ eyes settled on him. He felt he weight of them pulling him down. It was just Chris, him and the fire that danced across their skin. The outside world disappeared. Then Chris asked the question. The question Vincent did not want to answer. “Is what you said, earlier, about that boy...was it true?” 

“Chris-” 

“Was it true?” 

Everything in Vincent screamed not to answer. It shook him down to his bones. It was partly the truth, he would have. It had been a test, a test of loyalty. They had brought him before Vincent, pushed him down onto his knees, pressed a gun into Vincent’s palm and told him to pull the trigger. He did. But they were blanks. The boy whimpered, he was barely older than Vincent at the time. Then Eli moved up behind him, pressed a real loaded gun to the boy’s forehead, and then- then he was dead. Brain matter splattered onto Vincent’s shoes. He tried not to look. 

“No.” Vincent said shakily. “No I didn't, but my boss did. And I would have.” He couldn’t look at Chris. He couldn't meet his eyes.  _ Please tell me it’s okay.  _

“Okay.” Chris managed, “Okay, that’s okay.” 

Vincent let out a lungful of air he didn't know he was holding.

“Hey.” Chris said softly. He put his hand on the back of Vincent's neck. His hand was warm. It was gentle. Vincent let his eyes flutter close. “There is nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing you  _ would _ do.” 

“Why?” 

Chris almost looked horrified. “Why?” 

Vincent turned to glower at him. “I'm a fucking mess who happened to wander into your life with my bullshit bag of issues and you sit here and tell me you’d stay. That after your sister was held hostage and almost killed you don't care, that you’ll stand by me. Why?” He was exasperated. “You-you,” He made a...gesture. “I tell you that I almost committed murder and you don't blink an eye. I’m the  _ reason.  _ I caused all this and you don't care, why? Why don't you fucking care?” 

Chris almost looked like he was about to smile. “You just don't get it.” He scratched at his neck. Vincent remembered his father’s words.  _ You’ll see. One day you’ll see.  _ “Vincent I don't know who convinced you you were a bad person but they are wrong. You give and you give and you give. To Roman, to Enzo, to Ritter. To  _ me. _ And you never stop to think about yourself. You never get to take a breath. You never get to just be. You always belong to someone else. For once,  _ for once  _ Vincent you need to do something for yourself.” His voice was strong and lush. This was the tone he used when he talked about his sister. And it was reserved for Vincent. “Like I said. I'm here, any way you want me. Because you deserve better. Because for once, there should be someone in your life that will give you something without expecting something in return.” 

Vincent wondered at Chris. His eyes felt wet, and they pricked with tears yet to fall. He felt, full. Thank you didn't feel like enough, or rather it didn't feel right. Chris was giving, and he didn't want a reply, he didn't want anything but to stay. Vincent felt himself cave. He almost gave in. 

“Vincent you get to take a breath.” 

He did. And maybe because he was tired, maybe because he wanted this to be over, maybe because Chris wasn’t just looking at him he was  _ looking  _ at him. He cried. Because he finally got to. Because he never had since his mother died. Because for once there was someone looking at him and it didn't feeling like he should say something to appease them. Because Chris would let him cry. At first it was only a few tears but then they came pouring out. Four years worth of salty wet drops rained down. Vincent’s chest shook with the effort to breathe around them, and he muffled his sobs against to Chris’ shoulder. Chris’ wrapped his arms around him, and held on tight. It was vanilla and warmth and Vincent cried until he felt empty again and then, because he wanted to and because he needed it, he stayed in Chris’s arms. It was grounding. 

“Thank you.” He mumbled against Chris’ chest. 

“Don’t thank me for letting you feel human.” 

For once, in the past few years, Vincent felt okay. He took one last vanilla scented breath and stepped back. Chris thumbed away the rest of the wetness on his cheek. He felt okay. Chris smiled at him.


	14. Come Out And Play

On sunday they had woken to pale sunlight and foggy mountains. Everything was still, and the mist mulled about in the yard and the driveway, painting it a ghostly image. Roman had watched it come in from his bedroom window. And Enzo had only woken when it lay thick and dense across the house.    
Chris got up and made a pot of coffee at an unreasonable time. When the smell of it finally lured. Roman downstairs -the caffeine fiend he was from his early running days making him insatiable to the smell of fresh grounds- Chris was leaning against the counter, staring pensively off into the blanket of fog.  Chris ran a frustrated hand through his blond locks. He was wearing yesterday’s jeans and no shirt. Roman marked him tired, rather than thoughtful. He was quickly proved wrong when Chris asked him, “What do we do?” 

Roman cocked and eyebrow as he poured a mug. Wisps of steam curled towards his nose. The 

cup was warm around his hand.  “We don't do anything.” 

Chris watched him. He was holding back and aggressive remark. “Then what do you suggest Vincent do about all of this? Do you supposed he will have to fix the issue with Patrick too?”

Roman shrugged. “I don't know. I don't care. As long as Enzo and the rest of you are okay.”

“You like to say that Roman but deep down I think you really care.”

The coffee was bitter on Roman’s tongue. He didn't answer. 

“Look. I’m not going to try and convince you to like your brother. But he’s every bit as human as 

Enzo. If you don't fight to keep him safe then you are no better than Joe.” Chris paused to set his cup down. “He’s a person, and deserves to know he matters. Just like you do.” 

Roman just looked at him. He tried to school his expression but it made its way into a annoyed sneer. Only slightly. 

“So what do say we do about Patrick?” 

“I don't know.” Roman admitted.

“Well there has to be a way. If he wants the video then why don’t we just give it to him?” 

“Because Patrick Abbott is insane. He wants this house, and he wants Enzo’s money. I have no clue why he’s so hungry for it but...anyway the only thing keeping us safe, from him, from what he’ll do is that fucking hard drive.”

“Then why don't we expose him? Release the video like you threatened to.” 

“That’s not possible.” 

“Why?” 

“Because if we do than the police are going to be sniffing around here. If Joe is still at large, and Vincent is heavily involved then…” Roman stopped. What was he saying? 

Chris smiled a little. It was barely a whisper of a grin but it was there. “Then Vincent could be be in trouble.” This whole thing was gnarled and confusing. Ritter, Chris, Enzo, Roman, and Vincent were all backed into a tiny and dangerous corner. They could lash and scream but none of them had the skills to truly fight back. Roman felt like a caged animal. Nowhere to turn, no one to trust. They were stuck in this house until the fog cleared and along with it Joe and the rest of them.    
And then there came a knock. Soft, gentle. Like the rap of rain on windows. For a blissful moment Roman thought the knock wasn’t real, that it was his imagination playing tricks. And then it came again, this time hard and demanding.  _ Open up.  _ It bit into the door. Chris wandered into the living room. Roman followed him. They went into the living room, bare feet padding against carpet. 

Vincent was rising from his place on the couch. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and quickly tossed away the blanket.   
They all jerked as it came again. Now it was pounding, Roman saw the door jiggle on it’s hinges. Chris was closest to it. He made a quick glance at Vincent, and picked up the iron fire poker. Roman swallowed deeply. Before they could share anymore glances or think about opening the door, Enzo appeared on the stairs. His hair was a ruin and he blinked at all them. “Who is that?” 

Everyone turned to the door. Another round of fists pounded the wood, it rattled. 

“Patrick?” Chris whispered to Roman. 

Roman grit his teeth and jerked his head towards the door. Everything stilled, Chris reached for the handle.    
Someone shouted. “Come on Palayo! I know you’re in there!” 

“No.” This was Vincent, voice shattered. It was less of a spoken word than a rush of breath and a very very very loud thought. 

Chris opened the door. 

“Hi there.” The man on the other side said. His hair was dark, greasy and slicked back. He had a small mouth and wide jaw, his eyes stuck out like little slices of ice.    
Chris loosened his grip on the iron. He looked dazed, a question rising up on the tip of his tongue. 

Vincent was suddenly pushing past Roman. He shoved Chris back with little thought and charged the man in the doorway. From his reaction Roman pieced it together. It was Joe. Joe. Roman whipped around to look at Enzo. He looked a little sick. Enzo gave him a tight lipped nod.    
Ritter came down the steps behind him. She, much like her brother, furrowed her brows. “Who?” 

“Joe.” It was Enzo. Ritter scanned the room. She didn't look surprised, she looked concerned. 

“Well  _ hello _ .” Joe said.    
Vincent growled. “What are you doing here?” 

“Keeping promises.” At that Joe shoved Vincent aside. Vincent tripped over his feet and back into Chris. Chris caught him but in the process dropped the fire poker. It clanged to the ground. Joe strode in. 

Roman stepped in front of him. “Get out.”

“No.” Joe said sweetly. His voice was rich and languid.

Roman swung. Joe caught his arm, then violently twisted it back. Sharp pain shot up Roman wrist and arm. He mouth opened in a whine that would never come out. Joe smiled. Then kicked in Roman’s knees. He crumpled to the ground. His breath was heavy. Joe stepped over him. Chris regained possession of the fire poker. Vincent put a hand out. 

Joe meandered around the house. Roman tried to stand and got as far as his knees. Joe was muscular, and shorter. His hands were thick and he wore a long black coat. He went over to the fire place, he inspected the mantel. Enzo shifted on the stairs but he didn't dare come down. Roman looked further and saw Ritter was gripping the bat. 

“Joe, please leave.” Vincent said. The door still hung open, like a mouth waiting to swallow Joe back up. 

“You know Vincent, I don't think I’ll be leaving without something.”  He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “You know I never leave empty handed.” 

“He’s not going with you.” Chris interrupted.    
Joe’s eyes flit to him. He smiled. “Christopher.” It was the same indulgent tone he’d used on Roman. “Such a pleasure to see you again. And shirtless. I see you put on more of a show for Vincent than you do me. Shame, I would like to see it.”

“Screw you.” Ritter echoed from the stairs. She stepped in front of Enzo. “You fucking coward.” 

He pointed at her, “The sister.” He took a fake bow. “Pleasure to meet you too. Sorry, did I offend? What can I say, I like to watch.” 

She took the last couple of steps down and pointed the bat at him. “I'll skin you ear to ear.” 

“I’d love to see you try.”

She took another step, and then another, and then another. The bat was inches from Joe’s face. He smiled at it. It was like the smile Ritter sometimes showed the rest of them, knowing, daring. It challenged and infuriated, but on Ritter it was more endearing than hateful like it appeared on Joe. Ritter heaved a giant breath. She put the bat down. Her face was a ruin, she scolwed at him with every inch of her being. 

Roman bubbled. He gripped at his arm and hobbled to stand. It took all his breath. He wobbled. Joe smiled. “What the hell Christine? Hit him-” 

“Look at the windows.” She said breathless and still glaring a giant hole into Joe.    
At once everyone turned to the windows lining the far wall. Roman squinted. Then he saw it, people. Men, all dressed in black stood in the windows. Fogg curled around them. Roman let out a breath, it stuck inside him. They all held big menacing guns. Black, slick and well trained on the residents of the home. 

“Shit.” Chris said. 

Vincent breathed a, “No.” 

And Enzo said nothing. He stepped down to the main level. Joe let out a thick laugh. He stopped abruptly. He bore into Ritter with a gaze, “Drop the bat Chrissy.”    
“Don’t fucking call me that.” Ritter let the bat fall to the floor. “Chris, drop the stick.” She said without looking at her brother.    
Chris obeyed. It banged on the wood floors. “I hate you sometimes Buggy.”

“No you dont.” 

“I change my mind. I don't.” 

Joe regained attention. “Now.” He clasped his hands together. Diplomatic. Slowly he went to lean 

against the fireplace. “Why am I here? You may ask. Well let’s call this negotiation. Of sorts.” He scanned the room. Roman bit back a reply, ever so aware of the gun trained on all of them. Instead he looked to Enzo. They were so close. Enzo’s blue eyes met his. He mouthed something.  _ I’m sorry _ ? Roman didn't know. 

Ritter stepped back to meet Enzo. She grabbed his hand. He looked at her, she didn't look back. 

“What for?” Roman croaked. 

Joe answered smoothly. “Your brother my dear. He’s needed.” 

Roman turned to inspect Vincent. He stood next to Chris. Eyes unmoving from Joe, his face was hard. Roman looked away. 

“My!” Joe called from the fireplace. “Enzo Abbott. You are a sight to see. Your father cost  _ my  _ father a lot of money.” He tsked. Quickly he strode over to Enzo. Ritter didn't budge from her place next to him. Joe reached out and gripped Enzo’s face. He twisted it this way and that. Slowly, still holding Enzo’s face with his hand, Joe turned to look at Roman. 

Roman was pinned by the gun’s stare. But Enzo drew him forward. 

“I wouldn't if I were you.” Joe teased. 

Roman grit his teeth. 

Joe turned back. He ran a hand through Enzo’s hair and whispered something to him. Ritter’s mouth twisted in a cruel line, her hand gripped hard on Enzo’s hand. Roman silently thanked her. Joe let go and spun on one foot. Enzo reeled back, and consequently fell onto the floor. Ritter dropped down next to him in a crouch. 

Roman watched as Joe marched over to him. His eyes were determined. “Now Palayo. We need to talk.”

“About what?” 

“Actually both of you. Vincent, would you come here?” 

He did.    


“You have,” He said looking between the brothers -one scowling the other just watching, listening-, “two minutes until I leave. You know what that means, Vince, don't you? Choose someone in this room for me to take home.” He pointed at Vincent, “Your brother, your lover, your friend of your enemy's son.” He smiled and clapped Vincent on the shoulder. “Or you could make this easy and just go with me. Your choice.” He let out a finished breath. 

-

Enzo watched from the floor. Joe’s disrupting presence was painted differently on everyone's face. Ritter stayed next to him. Joe prowled about the house, his every step felt like a jab to Enzo. This was his home. This was where  _ he  _ belonged and Joe was here raping it with his eyes. He pillaged the fine details. The rich carpets and regal crown molding.    


Thirty seconds gone. They had to make a decision. Chris beat them all to it,  “I’ll go.” 

“NO.” This came from Vincent. “No Chris you can’t.” They shared a beat of eye contact. Chris smiled. 

“Well well well.” Joe clapped as he came over to Chris. He was so close to him. Chris was taller and almost as built a him. He swallowed deeply. Vincent lunged at Joe. Roman caught him by the arm and dragged him back. It was like when Patrick attacked and Vincent had to hold Chris back. Only now Roman hauled his thrashing brother away. Ritter stood up. She was almost crying. 

“You asshole.” she said. 

Enzo looked back to Joe. He leaned down and took in a big breath of Chris. “What a turn of events. I’m gonna have fun with this one.” He turned back to Vincent with a wide grin. “Won’t I Vincent?”

Vincent threw himself against his brother’s arms. Roman jerked back on him. His arms were wrapped all the way around him, like a hug but far more constricting. 

Ritter’s breathing was heavy. “You always have to be the fucking martyr. Fuck you Chris.” 

“I’m sorry Bug.” Chris shook his head. He looked, scared. His eyes were drawn narrow and sharp. All the blue gone away. 

Enzo said before he knew he was going to. Enzo said it like it would solve everything. He said it like he meant it. And he did. “Take me. Take me instead.” 

Joe quickly turned to looked at him. 

Enzo felt all the eyes on him. He wanted to shake. But he didn't. He remembered Ritter and Alexis and there simple determination. He stared Joe down as he stood. Joe watched him appraisingly. 

“NO!” Roman shouted now. “Enzo don't.” 

“Someone has to go!” Enzo bit back.  

Roman sputtered. Vincent had finally relaxed into Roman’s arms. His head was thrown back and he breathed heavily. He slumped into his brother’s grasp. 

Joe smiled and swirled his tongue around in his mouth. “Now  _ this _ is interesting.”    


Roman’s voice faded into a faint buzzing sound. Joe came over and grasped Enzo by the arm, his grip was tight. “Son of Patrick Abbott. If only your father loved you, then i would really know how to break him. Well looks like your two minutes is up.” Then, without any ceremony, marched him out of the house. Enzo stumbled down the porch steps. Joe’s smell filled his nose. Everything faded. A few muscled men clamped cuffs down over his wrists and marched him over to SUVs parked in the driveway. 

Black swirled in Enzo stomach. He shook.

Roman shouted. Guns held him back. But he called out to Enzo, voice taught and raw. “Enzo!” 

Enzo couldn't bare to look at him. Instead he ducked his head as he was shoved into the back. The doors slammed. The tires squealed. Dust replaced the fog and Roman ran. He ran and ran and ran. He chased the trail of dust the cars left behind, and then ran down the curving roads. Until his lungs were torn to shreds and his heart was bursting into shreds 

He fell to the ground. Enzo. Gone. Enzo. Enzo. Enzo.    


If his lungs had held enough air he would have screamed, but he could barely breathe.


	15. Let Me Go/ With you

Ritter jumped in her car the second Roman peeled away. She rushed into the house threw on shoes jangled her keys grabbed the bat and went to find him. Vincent sat slumped in Chris’ arm on the couch. He didn't say a word nor did he cry or shake. He hung his head and tried to breathe. 

His thoughts were raging wildfires. They burned him. “He’s gonna be mad at me. Roman.” 

“I know.” Chris said. 

“He’s gonna try and kill me.” If Vincent was being entirely truthful, he would lay down and let Roman kick his head in.   
“I won’t let him.” 

When Roman came back Ritter looked flustered. Vincent sat bold upright, Chris whispered to him to stay as he stood up but Vincent didn't listen. Chris rolled his eyes. 

Roman meandered through the front door He slumped. He looked, small. Vincent was suddenly reminded of when Roman was younger. When his father died. Roman found him, Vincent had been out on a deal. When Vincent tore home Roman was just stepping out of the house. Police cars and an ambulance swarmed the driveway. There was an officer at Roman’s side but he didn't acknowledge them. Vincent jumped out of the front seat, ready to give his brother a big hug, or ask questions. Roman looked, dead, gone. Empty. 

Roman came in the house and fixed Vincent with his soulless eyes. “Where’s the gun?” 

Vincent’s heart kicked up. “What gun.” 

“At the hospital, after the accident. You had a gun, you sure as hell didn’t get rid of it. Where’s the fucking gun Vincent.” His voice was flat. Roman couldn’t even manage to put heat into his words.   
In that moment Vincent found himself itching for anger. For rage, for passion for fucking something. Roman was a gentle creature, not to him anymore but Vincent saw that part of his brother in other things, for Enzo. But now, Roman stood like a stranger in his own home. He stood like his father had died. Vincent remembered a time when Roman would fight. When Vincent told him it was too dangerous to stay in Clarkston and Roman had thrown Vincent to the ground because he couldn't leave Enzo. Because he was family worth keeping.   
“I got rid of it.” Vincent said truthfully. 

“Where’s the fucking gun Vincent, I need something to shoot you with.” He took a step forward. Chris did too. Roman met Vincent’s eyes over his shoulder. “You said you would keep him safe. You said you would take care of it.” His voice finally cracked. A fat tear fell down his cheek. His lip quivered. 

“I will.” 

Roman stared at him. He took a shaky breath. His shoulders collapsed, he fell to the floor. “I’m so done.” He let out a desperate wail as his head fell into his hands. Everyone in the room froze, Roman leaned forward and pressed his forehead into the carpet. He cried out. Vincent felt his eyes sting. Roman banged on the floor with his fist.   
Ritter was the first one to move. She came over to Roman and touched his back. Roman lashed out and shoved her back. She stumbled. Chris and her shared a meaningful glance. Swallowing she went back. This time he looked up, eyes swollen and cheeks wet he practically fell into her arms as another round of sobs hit him.  

Vincent stumbled back. Chris turned. “We better give him some space.” Chris took Vincent by the arm, Vincent tried to hold his ground but he couldn’t look at Roman anymore.   
Upstairs Chris led them into the spare  room and shut the door. Vincent went to the bed, he stood over it for a second, waited, put his head in his hands and tried not to cry. The bed squealed as Chris sat down. He slid his hand into Vincent’s and said. “It’s okay to cry Vincent.” 

Vincent sniffled, and shook his head. “No it’s not. This is all my fault.” He blubbered. His nose was running. 

Almost roughly Chris tugged Vincent down. He hugged him, fierce tight and close. Vincent tried to hold back a sob but Chris was squeezing it out of him. He whimpered and then the dam holding him contained cracked straight down the middle. His face was pressed into Chris’s shoulder, he knelt uncomfortable on the floor. Chris whispered to him. “It’s not your fault. This could never be your fault.” 

Watery Vincent said, “I shouldn’t have come here.” He sucked in a breath, and then another, and then another. He couldn’t get his air out. His lungs were seizing up. 

“Vincent breathe.” Chris pulled him back and cradled his head in his hands, “Vincent please breathe.” 

Vincent couldn't. He was being torn apart. Joe was ripping into him. Vincent imagined Enzo right now, his face, that beautiful sharp face distorted as it was pressed deep into a mattress. Vincent knew that pain, but imagining that on someone else, someone he loved, it was like ten times worse.   
It was happening.   
He had to go back. 

“I have to go.” Vincent said abruptly. He pushed Chris away and shakily stood. 

“Why?” Chris said. 

Vincent wiped away his snot. “I have to go to Joe, that’s the only way he’s gonna give Enzo back.” 

Chris shot up. “No.” He crossed the room and stood in front of the door. “No. There are other ways.” 

Vincent was done. He felt gross and sick and wrong. He wanted to throw himself out the window and if Chris wasn’t going to move, he would. He grabbed Chris by the shoulder and tried to shove him out of the way. Chris held on. After a few seconds of thrashing around Vincent made no progress. “Let me fucking leave Christopher!” He screamed. 

Chris didn't flinch. He didn't move either. “No.” 

God he was infuriating. 

“Why do you even fucking care. This has nothing to do with you!” 

“It sure as hell does.”   
“Why!” 

Chris stopped. He cocked his head. Before he could say anything Vincent spoke up. His rush of anger had subsided but he was still trying to get past Chris to the door. “If I don't leave. If I don't go after Joe, then-” Vincent stopped. His body shivered, he could barely speak around the shakes he was having. “Then…” It took every last bit of fight left in him to say it. “Then Joe will rape Enzo.”   
Chris’ expression stuttered. “No he won’t.” 

“Yes he fucking will.” 

Chris’ eyes were wide open. Slowly he melted. His iron grip on the door handle fell away. “He’s who... he raped you didn't he.” 

The world slowed to stop. All the air rushed from Vincent lungs and he was choking on his answer. Then Vincent was crying again. And he was trying to say yes but his mouth wouldn't let him, and he was trying to see Chris’ expression, he wanted to know if he was mad at Vincent but he couldn’t see through the tears. Every nerve was on fire, his head pounded. Chris might have been hugging him again, and Vincent might have been on the floor, or maybe the bed but he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was the bruises, every place Joe had ever touched him shivered and quaked and hissed and reared it’s menacing head as it tore through Vincent like a tornado. He felt wrong. Off. His insides were slick with shame and his eyes were heavy. Joe was there again, over him. Talking and murmuring and moaning, and Vincent couldn’t fight it. Somewhere, far away Vincent heard Enzo’s voice. He was screaming. He was crying out. He was pleading, begging, calling for help. Vincent was slipping away. He needed to help Enzo. He was the only one who could.  _ This was his fault.  _ He clawed and scratched on this thin ledge he was hanging from, consciousness: just over the top, sleep: it’s giant maw hanging open below him. Reality and dreaming. He couldn’t hang on, his fingers were torn to shreds. 

He fell away. 

-

Suddenly Vincent clicked back into his brain. Everything rushed back to him, it slammed home the instant he opened his eyes. All the pain and the desperation. The sound of his brother breaking into a million little pieces and the sound of Joe’s hammer like fist against his door. He shifted. Chris’s arms were heavy around him. They were underneath the blanket, the windows were dark. 

Enzo’s voice screamed his name. Suddenly Vincent sat up. 

“Whoa.’ Chris exclaimed. 

Vincent threw off the the covers and fumbled around in the dark for his phone.   
“Vince. Vince’ Chris pleaded next to him. Vincent didn’t acknowledge him. He needed to leave. How much time had he wasted?  He needed to go. Enzo. Joe. Joe was going to- “Vincent stop.” 

“I have to get him. I have to get him.” There were bruises, in the shapes of fingers covering Vincent’s arms. He felt empty again. No, he was full but he had to give it all away. Chris was here, Chris had stayed with him for hours as he floated somewhere deep in his caverness mind. And he didn't care. And he hugged him. Vincent had never been hugged. And Chris had said, “Im here, any way you want me”. And Chris would look at him sometimes, just look at him, and his gaze was not hungry is wasn't mad it was just, blue. And then other times he would call Vincent beautiful, or handsome, or Pulchritudinous. And then when Vincent had told him the answer to a math problem Chris had been having trouble with Chris looked at him and said, “Fuck you’re so smart.” And Vincent had truly and properly blushed. And then Chris spent hours shooting math problems at him. Some of which he had to look on his phone for the answers and Vincent just smiled, because Chris thought he was smart. 

Now he would have to leave it behind. And it hurt Vincent more than anything. Because he wanted this, god how his heart ached for Chris’ smile, but Joe was tugging him away. No, he was kidnapping him. He would be returned to Joe. The man that littered his skin with aches and pains because he was smart, because he was pretty, instead of asking him math questions or looking up synonym for the word “beautiful” on his phone. The one that tried to suffocate him in his sheets because he was too smart, and too pretty.

Chris put a hand on Vincent’s back. “It’s okay. I’m here.” he said softly. Vincent was 

crying again. His head had a vice around it. His thoughts were suffocating.  “I’m here Vince.” And Chris's hand was warm. And soft. And it rubbed circles into his back as he dry heaved more tears. And Chris was still there. And he...he was Chris. 

Vincent wanted this so bad. 

But Joe. 

Chris said, “I’m here. Anyway you need me.” 

Vincent needed him. He needed all of him. Vincent turned his head, Chris’ blue eyes glittered in the dark half light. 

Vincent pressed his lips to Chris.   
Everything melted away like before. But this time Vincent wasn’t struggling to hang on, he let himself fall because Chris was there, standing underneath him, arms out. It was just them, and their lips pressed together. The whole world was contained to this room, and Chris broke away. His eyes glazed over Vincent’s face, his mouth. Vincent let out a huge breath. “You are remarkable.” Chris said. He reached up and cupped Vincent’s cheek. It wasn’t suffocating. Vincent drew in a deep breath.   
Vincent kissed him again, this time desperate and long. All he could feel was Chris, their lips as they slid together, and the warmth of his hand. Vincent had never kissed anyone before, he’s always _been_ kissed. Chris was everything Joe could not be. Altruistic -he let out a grunt in the back of his throat; Vincent kissed him harder- kind. 

Vincent couldn’t let him go.    


“Is this okay?” Vincent asked almost out of breath. 

“Yeah.” Chris said voice silvery. And then Vincent kissed him again. Because he was there, and 

he was good, and he was this full hearted thing that only wanted Vincent, in any form he wanted to give himself. And he thought Vincent was pretty, and human, and  _ it is alright to cry,  _ and,  _  for once, there should be someone in your life that will give you something without expecting something in return. _

 Chris hadn’t be talking about himself when he said that. Those words had not be a plea for 

Vincent to choose him, it was a plea for Vincent to find someone, anyone that let him feel human. To feel okay. 

Chris leaned up and took his shirt off. 

Vincent was okay. He left kisses down his collar bone, and Chris’ hands moved against his shirt. Slowly he made his way under the fabric, lost in it.  

Vincent jerked away from Chris. “Stop.” Chris froze underneath him. Suddenly the only place they were touching was were Vincent straddled Chris’ lap. Vincent shut his eyes. He swallowed thickly, “Don’t touch my sides.” 

“Okay. Sorry.” Chris’ voice rattled around in his chest, he was nervous. 

Vincent slowly leaned down and pulled another kiss from him. He was okay. Chris put his hands in Vincent’s hair. He was slow, and methodical, and he didn't ask anything of Vincent. 

Vincent couldn’t let his hands past his waist, and he couldn’t bring himself to wander any further on Chris either. 

-

When it was deep into the night Vincent rolled over. Chris mumbled something sleepy, to him. Vincent whispered, “I’m just texting Ritter to make sure Roman is okay.” 

He wasn’t. He texted Joe.  _ I’ll go with you. Bring Enzo back unharmed and I’ll go.  _

It wasn’t long before he got a text back.  _ Okay pretty boy meet you at the school ;)  _

Vincent threw his phone back onto the side table, rolled back over and watched Chris sleep. 


	16. Sacrifices Were Made For Me

That morning Roman woke with a headache. It always seemed to be that way. His mouth was dry, his eyes dry. His body felt like a sinking stone, nowhere to go but down, nothing to do but be grey and heavy. It was a familiar feeling. An old friend. 

He tried to shake the feeling. He wanted nothing but to bury his head into his pillow and sob. He also wanted to tear into Joe. He gripped his pillow and smashed his face up against it. Enzo had left his imprint on it. The memories of all those nights of his head on that pillow were queued up in Roman’s mind. Roman’s stomach twisted. He saw Enzo everywhere, in every piece of dust and every thread of the carpet. The whole house was under his spell, and Roman couldn’t see anything without a flash of him between the images.

He was everywhere.   
There was a soft knock on his door.   
“Yeah.” Roman shouted through his pillow. He quickly tried to still the air in his lungs but to no avail. 

That meant he had to face Chris’ complex features. The door was open all the way, Roman had turned to look at him. Last night, before Roman had fallen asleep after an exhausting night in Ritter’s arms, she had checked on Vincent and her brother. Neither of them had made an appearance since after Roman came back. Apparently Vincent had a panic attack, of sorts, leaving him distant and unresponsive for hours, and then he had fallen asleep on Chris. Chris hadn’t move and refused to leave the room. Him standing in Roman’s door meant either his need to eat or drink or go to the bathroom out weighed Vincent or Vincent was up. Most likely the latter. “We need to talk.” Is all Chris said. 

Roman nodded. Chris left the room, door hanging open. Roman climbed out of bed and put on his hoodie. He tried not to think of the only reason he was able to wear it was because Enzo had been taken in one of his wool sweaters. Enzo had developed a nasty habit of just stealing all of Roman’s clothes now, but his favorite article was the one with Roman’s last name of it. 

He made his way out into the hall. It was dark, the only light from the sun coming in from the window at the end of the hall. The spare room door hung open, Roman peaked inside. The blankets had been discarded, shoes lay scattered across the floor. 

He went down stairs. 

Vincent was on the couch. Roman and him met eyes.   
Chris flicked Roman a warning glance, but only to discourage him from saying anything. Roman sent him back a loose expression. He didn't have the energy to be angry. 

Slowly Roman realized that all the attention was on Vincent. Standing by the fireplace Ritter watched everyone with careful eyes. Chris sat by Vincent, legs touching. Roman had no one, so he lingered by the staircase. In his hands Vincent held his phone. He was dressed, and he’d even found time to take a shower and do his hair.   
Usually when Vincent appeared like this: more CEO than human, he was wearing a blank if not irritated scowl, and was sitting straight up, judging you with silent eyes. But now? Now he was gripping Chris’ thigh as if was a life line.   
Suddenly Vincent looked to his brother. All the breath in Roman’s lungs was extracted. “I’m going to get Enzo back.” 

Chris made no reaction. Neither did Ritter. Which overall told Roman that he was the only one that didn’t know.

Roman didn’t know what to say. This is what he wanted, but the look on his brother’s face unsettled something old in him.  _ Years  _ old. The white knuckled grip he had on his phone and Chris, and the green shade to his face, or even the slight quiver in his lip. It all made a gnarled feeling inside Roman. One black and twisted and confusing. 

“Okay.” Roman said with the least amount of feeling he could muster. 

Vincent waited a beat more, eyes still hard on his brother, than stood.   
“I’m going with.” Chris said. 

Vincent quickly turned to him, face surprised. Before he could reject Chris’ “offer” Roman interjected, “Me too.” 

“Same here.” Ritter echoed. 

“Vince, Joe wants you, he’s not going to pull anything.” Chris looked, defeated. His face was dismal at best and his down turned mouth appeared morbid on him. Roman almost wanted to ask if something had happened outside of Enzo getting kidnapped, but he knew what had happened, or rather what was happening. “Plus Enzo will need a way home.” The blond looked at his lap. His hand brushed the place Vincent had been holding it. 

With a pained tone Vincent replied, “Okay.” 

-

“I wish I had met you sooner.” Chris said in the car. They were following Ritter’s green ranger rover to the school.

Vincent raised and eyebrow.   
Chris slumped back in the passenger seat of Vincent’s car. They were taking the scenic route. Trees and bare forests flew by. The countryside rolled along. Vincent breathed in the winter air, filling his lungs with Chris’ scent so he’d have something to steady him in the deadness of California. There the  heat cooked everything away, leaving nothing but the scent of ocean and hot dessert behind. Here, life was woven into every drop of air and every inch of dirt. Finally Chris said, “I wish I could have kept you away from him. I wish I could...I wish you would stay.” 

Vincent swallowed the lump in his throat. He asked the only question he could think off, it came out rocky. “If you had met me when I was younger would you still think I was cute?” 

Finally, finally, finally. Chris smiled and looked at Vincent. Everything screamed for him to slam on the breaks, turn around and drive deep into the woods where no one would ever find them. But Enzo was still waiting for him at the school. “Yeah, Vince, I would have.” 

“I thought you only like guys with tragic backstories.” 

“Well they sometimes do add to the mystery factor, which is hot, but you are not mysterious.” Chris was still smiling that galiant smile. Vincent could see all his teeth and the sorrow that lay beneath. “I know who you are.” 

Vincent missed the shift and his car sputtered for a second. Then he got it back in the next gear and it rolled along.   
Chris’s smile faded. It wasn't there for long, but god Vincent wanted it to be. “You’re are Vincent Palayo, and you are pulchritudinous inside and out.” 

-

They pulled up to the school. It was gloomy thanks the the storm clouds that hung over the skies. Clarkston stood proud and red in the backdrop, and a few old cars lay sleeping in the parking lot. All of them belonged to the homeless students of Clarkston. Most of them would be asleep at this hour, which is why Joe picked it.   
Ritter pulled the range rover up to the curb, Vincent pulled in next to her. He had seen the SUV’s gathered in the far edges of the parking lot, his heart thumped deep inside his stomach. 

Before they got out Vincent turned to Chris. “Thank you, Christopher.” His name felt like and ending in his mouth. “Thank you for-” For the what? Vincent couldn’t quiet place the feelings he had into actual words. “Thank you for making me feel okay. I haven't felt like that in a long time.” 

Chris’ face was… he sucked in a sharp breath and looked out the window. He shook his head. Vincent could tell he was angry, and sad, and handsome. Shakily Chris said, “Vincent, I-” 

Vincent put a hand on his leg. “Chris, thank you.” 

Chris twisted his mouth, squeezed his eyes and with great effort replied, “Okay.” 

They got out. 

Joe was waiting for them in the back. He and his men were congregated on the bleachers. There were a total of three, not including Joe himself or Enzo’ hooded figure.   
Vincent had told Roman before they left that Enzo’s head was on the line, and that Joe wouldn’t have an issue killing him so Roman remained calm as they approached. Only barely. Ritter was next to him, ready to reach out and grab if he tried anything. 

Vincent stepped forward. He rolled his shoulders and met Joe’s eyes. Joe’s smile glimmered in the winter light. It wasn’t much but you could tell he was almost enjoying this. He stepped off the bleachers and scanned the group with lavish eyes and an open mouth. His eyes caught on Chris, flickered to Vincent, went back to Chris. His smiled tightened, it was the smile of a craving. 

Joe didn’t usually put on this kind of an act. Away from his father, he was let loose and free. But 

when he would unlock Vincent’s door late at night he wore no smile. His face was dead. These smiles he adorned were only for Vincent, so he would feel the pang of possibility. Joe knew how to hurt Vincent. He knew to target the people he loved. 

“Why did you bring them?” Joe asked flatly. Somehow that hurt more than his rich tone.   
“They are here for Enzo.” Vincent crossed his arms. He was trying to keep his composure but it was slipping away under Joe’s heavy stare. 

“Ah. I see. Now Chris baby, I see you finally decided to put on a shirt. Shame.” He tsked. “I loved those tattoos.” 

“Fuck you.” Chris said. 

Vincent flicked a look over his shoulder. He didn't meet Chris’ eyes but he got the message. 

Joe waved his finger in the air, “Don't give me such an offer, I only have room for two in my hotel.”  His eye tore over Vincent. “Now.” Joe clapped his hands together. “Shall we get on with business?” He snapped and one of the men standing behind Enzo ripped off the black hood covering his head.   
Enzo squinted in the light.   
His face was unmarked. Slowly he looked up. His eyes raging over them all. Then he found Roman. He saw Roman and he called out. It was high, desperate. The wounded call of a wolf to it’s pack. 

Roman lost it. Suddenly he burst forward. Ritter had thought to grab onto his arm so he didn't go far. But he sure put up a nasty fight. He was saying Enzo’s name. Only his name. 

Joe smiled and put his hands together like he’d done his job. 

Vincent tried to drown it out. “Roman what did I tell you!” He shouted attempting to tone down any aggression in his voice.   
“Alright that’s enough.” Joe snapped. The man behind him held out a metal mallet. Joe took it delightfully. 

Roman froze. “You bastard.” 

Before anything could escalate Vincent cleared his throat. “Joe you tried to cut a deal with me.” Joe’s grin fell away. “I think now it’s time I do the same.” 

“I’m listening.” Joe inclined his ear. 

Vincent took a breath and thought of anything but Chris or Enzo, or Roman. “Give me Enzo, promise that you won’t ever bother me or anyone I care about again and I won’t go to the cops and tell them about the operation you and your family is running.” Is was a last ditch effort. It was all Vincent had left. Somewhere in him, he could see it. Joe handing Enzo over, going home empty handed, leaving Vincent to remain triumphant and home. With Chris. With Roman and Ritter and Enzo and someone who wasn’t keen on tearing him apart. 

But then Joe laughed. Joe laughed and that fell apart. “You don't have the balls Vincent babe. Plus,” Joe considered the weapon in his hands, “you don't want an entire drug cartel and a half -not to mention the police- coming after you.” Vincent stared at him. Joe’s mouth was wicked. “Face the facts pretty boy, there is no way you get out of this. You’ll never be free of me.” 

And it was the truth.   
Vincent hated it. He remembered Chris’s lips on his. Chris’ words, his voice, his glorious and ever stretching tattoos. The way he looked in the moonlight. The way Roman’s eyes had not burned him this morning. How he felt that night weeks ago, looking at himself through Chris’ eyes. “I might.” 

Taking a deep breath Joe looked out across the field. His mouth was thin and his eyes frustrated. He bounced the mallet in his palm. The men behind him waited for orders. 

Joe turned, “Hold him down.” 

Vincent felt something light inside him. Rage. Or was it worry? It was the feeling of his control finally breaking in half. 

The men did as told. They slammed Enzo down on the bench and pinned his feet to the wood. One of them gripped his restraints and yanked his hands above his head. Behind Vincent, Roman swore. He was screaming and making promises of a slow death. When Joe stepped up onto the bleachers once again, mallet in hand, Roman let out a war cry. Ritter was having problems holding him back. Her arms wrapped all the way around him and her heels dug into the ground. 

Enzo’s eyes were huge. He was crying out too, he couldn't stop staring at the mallet. He was afraid. He was terrified and it made Vincent’s legs weak. 

“You know,” Joe said examining Enzo’s arms. “Enzo is quite the talker once you give him a little taste of yourself. Not much like you Vincent, you just lie down and take it.”   
Vincent felt a bit of his food lurch in his stomach. Chris was having trouble staying where he was and not trying to kill Joe. 

“I say you picked a nice toy to play with Roman. He tasted so good.” 

Enzo had his eyes shut closed. He kicked against the hands holding him down but to no avail. He was trying his best to get free. He looked weak. 

Ritter managed to tackled Roman to the ground. She was practically sitting on him. Much like Enzo, Roman thrashed but he was winning. 

Joe tested the weight of the hammer. “I heard Enzo here plays the guitar. Good with his hands. I wonder if he can still play when his hand has been shattered.” His voice was one long giant tease. 

Vincent then realized Enzo was talking. His face was turned towards Roman’s direction. He was apologizing. His words were quick loud and his voice was thin. Vincent couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying over the blood in his ears. but he could just tell how far Joe had gone to make him this way. Chris had now joined his sister in restraining Roman. Roman had tears down his face. 

“Vincent. Fucking do something! Please.” Roman called out. It wasn’t anger. He sounded like he did when he was fourteen and his mouth was dying in the hospital. When the doctors were killing her and all Roman wanted was them to stop. _ Stop. Stop, please make them stop.  _

Vincent had wondered at that many times. Roman had pushed him away because of that, and then Vincent had been made to think the same prayers hundreds of times.   
In front of Vincent Joe continued his torture. “Ah, that is not the only thing he told me Roman. He told me many things. Many.” Joe reached over and took one of Enzo’s wrists. He jerked and wobbled in his grip but Joe ripped back on Enzo’s arm. With a weak sob Enzo slowly stopped moving, his mouth agape in pain. Vincent wondered if that’s what he looked like sometimes. Joe brought Enzo’s hand up to his mouth, “He said this is your favorite spot.” The short kiss Joe pressed to Enzo’s wrist turned into a long stripe of his tongue. 

Suddenly Roman managed to plant an elbow in Chris’s ribs. His sudden weight knocked Ritter off balance. He was free. He bolted towards the bleachers. To Enzo.   
Vincent could see it. Enzo taken, Roman beaten to a pulp and the whole plan going to shit. Chris would be taken, they would probably all die and Vincent would go home to Joe. 

Joe raised the mallet. It glinted in the sun. Enzo screamed. Roman stood still for a moment, everything halting to a stop. “Aw you are so cute. You can never protect him Roman. He’s got a target on his back, he’s just a tick, tick, ticking clock.” 

Joe raised the mallet, and swung. 

Everything flooded from Vincent. “STOP!” 

The hammer was inches from Enzo’s vulnerable hand. Joe was grinning ear to ear. 

Ritter tackled Roman again, and Chris dusted himself off.   
Vincent took a breath and then another. His eyes were closed. He was swaying. He was thinking. He was saying goodbye. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

Roman fell silent. He stopped moving. He was watching his brother with a lost expression. 

Vincent took a step forward, finally opening his eyes. Joe was there. He stepped off the bench and beckoned Vincent over.   
Once he was on the other side Joe ordered Enzo’s zip ties cut off. Vincent watched as Enzo stumbled over to Roman, legs weak. Roman enveloped the boy in his arms and fell to the ground again, Enzo tucked underneath him. Though his arms were tight and his expression pained Roman looked to his brother.   
Vincent saw his brother’s eyes. Not Roman’s eyes, but his brother’s. The kind soft and warm ones he’d been missing all these years. The eyes Roman reserved for Enzo, and Ritter and Chris. The ones of compassion and, forgiveness. Then Vincent felt himself smile. It was a small one, a true and good and pure one. He looked at his brother and those eyes they shared, and he said goodbye. Roman blinked at him, not understanding of his expression. He would get it at some point. That Vincent telling him he loved him, and that he was sorry for all the pain he’d caused. His brother looked back. 

Vincent knew Patrick was going to come back now that Vincent wasn’t an issue. But he also knew that Roman would be able to handle it. They all would really. Chris, Ritter and Enzo. They all would make it out okay. 

He knew he wouldn’t be okay too. He knew that Joe was going to take him apart and only leave the shell of the man he was now. He knew this is was most whole he would be for the rest of his life. A tear slipped down his cheek when he looked at Chris. Chris stood alone, and abandoned. Vincent wanted him. He wanted to stay by his side, but he was going to make this sacrifice. He was okay with that, for them, anything.    


After all Vincent had gotten used to giving things up. He’d been doing it for years. Vincent Palayo was made for sacrifices.

“Let me go Chris. This is the last thing I ask you, please, please,” Vincent took a deep breath, with it he washed all of this away, “let me go.” 

Joe grabbed his arm and yanked him down towards the parking lot. “You’re going to pay for all the shit you caused Vincent.” 

Maybe he would. But as he watched Ritter hug her brother and Roman cling to Enzo like nothing else mattered in the world he thought he could close his eyes and let all those moments in pain pass over him. He walked away with Joe. He was still smiling. 

Joe stopped. He turned and shoved his hands into Vincent pockets. Vincent moved his head aside. He felt Joe’s hand wander around in the pockets. A sick feeling pushed up inside Vincent but he closed his eyes and let it pass. Slowly Joe found his mark and extracted Vincent’s phone, he chucked it at Chris. Chris caught the black phone messily. He turned his wet eyes on it. “If you need anything from me Chris. Just call.” 


	17. Breathe

Hospitals were always a suffocating place. From the start they filled your lungs with a unpleasant smell. One that could tell you exactly what kind of mystery meat the cafeteria was serving up, or in other case what cleaning product the room next door has just used to mop up vomit. Either way they choked you from the inside out. A perpetual haze lingered around the room, as did it outside. The Mountain View Hospital was a small facility, nestled in the hillside town of Glen Butte Washington. The nurses all wore floral printed scrubs and welcoming smiles, even when they were telling you your loved one had just passed away. Which made for an all around creepy atmosphere. This in turn made the strained relationship between patients and doctors even more taut.

This is what made Mountain View so suffocating. 

That and the constant beeping and whirring in Vincent’s ear.  That’s how he ended 

up on the curb, smoking a cigarette his father didn't know he had. He was seventeen, and it still wasn't completely legal for him to have the cigarettes yet. But he didn't mind. After all that had happened in the past few days he knew his father did not have it in him to punish Vincent for it. So he smoked. It was chilly. The barely fall skies weep, but Vincent was safe in the overhang of the building.

The automatic door opened behind him. 

Vincent flung his cigarette in front of an oncoming car. It landed on the concrete with a hiss. 

“You’re aren't supposed to have those.” Roman said. 

Vincent chuckled. “Caught me red handed.” His brother was staring at him. He was frowning. It made something in Vincent tighten. His brother was skinny, and fragile. Vincent wanted to shroud him in his puffy winter jacket and rock him till he fell asleep. Vincent nudged Roman “Don't tell dad,” he paused and ruffled his hair, “or mom.” 

Roman turned to look out at the parking lot. Vincent could see the worry etched onto him. Like a second skin it covered him. Roman was suffocating. Vincent was suffocating. 

They couldn't breathe. 

“D-” Roman started and faltered. He looked up at his brother, his brown eyes

glistening and wrapped his arms around himself. Why wasn't he wearing a jacket? He was going to get sick. “Do you think she’s gonna be okay?” 

The mountains were blue, blue, blue. And the air was cold. And the hospital doors opened behind them and Vincent could still hear the whirring machines from his mother’s hospital room. And Roman was frowning up at him and his father said he was going home to get clothes but Vincent knew he was unlocking the alcohol cabinet inside their kitchen and taking a long long drink. 

Vincent took a huge breath of piercing air.   
“I don't know.” 

It was the truth. And god it hurt. 

Roman nodded. 

It hurt. 

Vincent leaned over and nudged his brother. Roman was staring at a car in the parking lot as it drove by. “Hey,” 

“What?” 

“She loves you.” 

It was the truth, and it hurt. 

“I know.” 

It was the truth. 

Something inside Vincent screamed,  _ this is not the end. This cannot be the end. _ But when he made his way back inside the hospital, and his mother was laying in the bed that part died. She had a tube down her throat. The machines whirred. Her eyelids were pale. The rose that always blushed her elegant cheekbones was gone, replaced by the dull color of decay. 

And when he held his father tight as he remembered him doing once for him that part finally ceased to be.   
Vincent was almost taller than his father but not quiet. David Palayo had always been a menacing but gentle creature, he saw that in Roman a lot. Now however, he was the fog that covered the mountains in the morning. Or the fresh drew Vincent had to tromp through to get to his white Honda parked outside the Palayo farm house. He was temporary, he was quickly gone but lasting. Because all those times Vincent had to walk  through the green grass glistening with water droplets, even after Vincent had made it to his car those chilly mornings, his feet were still damp for hours later.. 

“You have to say the words David.” 

David shook in the arms of his son. 

“I can give you some time but it will only prolong it. She isn’t coming back.” 

It took a long time. Many moments Vincent found himself unsure if his father was actually going to say the words. But then he did and it stole the breath from his chest.

“Pull the plug.” 

Vincent’s feet were wet. His heart ached. He couldn't breathe. 

Vincent had to learn how to breathe. 

It was the only option.    


Finding his breath was the only way he could help his brother. His family. 

It came in the form of Joe Cooper.  A slicked well oiled machine of harassment and superiority. He walked down the hall of Glen High like one would raid a military base. Hands in pockets and a smile etched on his his wide set jaw, his eyes picked out his targets. Everyone avoided him.    


He slumped against Vincent’s locker.    


The students neatly moved around them.    


A cigarette hung from his mouth. It was a flashy accessory, seeing that as one teacher walking by could see it and snatch it right out of his mouth and send him to the principal's office. That is if any of them had the balls to look him in the eyes. He went by his real name back then, Jonathan. What made Jonathan so dangerous was his piece of work father. A project, that had a wide berth of money underneath his belt all of which from a suspiciously quiet business. And his mother was just as dismissive and stuck up that it made the whole family the bleakest in town. Not some much bleak as, intimidating. 

Jonathan had never really done anything blatantly rude, illegal or against the rules, others just trusted him enough to not try it. 

“Looks like pretty boy is back.” Jonathan said, letting all his vowels stick to the tip of his tongue. His mouth made a pleased shape as he spoke. 

Vincent avoided his stare. This was the last thing Vincent wanted to be seen doing. He shoved his work uniform inside his locker. He’d picked up a job at the burger shop that past week. He figured that if he was ever going to help his dad pay the bills that he would do it now. The electric bill was waiting for him. David Palayo had gone to waste and Elizabeth was in the ground. Vincent had to step up. 

Find his breath. 

Jonathan pulled out a light blue pack of cigs. Stuffing them inside Vincent’s locker he wore a leisurely smile. 

“I can't pay you for those.” Vincent said trying to pull them back out and hand them to Jonathan. 

Jonathan placed a hand on his locker door and slammed it shut. 

Vincent jerked his hand back. 

“It’s not a problem. They are on me.” 

Vincent swallowed. “What do you want?” 

Jonathan clucked and ran a hand through his greasy dark hair. “You and me, tonight. We’ll talk then. At the shop.” 

The burger shop was quiet this late at night. Vincent thumbed through the oily menu he was familiarizing himself with. He could feel the change inside his apron pocket. After six hours of waiting tables all he had was eighteen dollars to show for it. That would pay for a nice burger and maybe a malt shake. What Vincent really wanted to do was save the rest for bills, and buying Roman new shoes. 

The bell on the door rang. 

Jonathan waltzed in in a cloud of tobacco smoke and cheap cologne. He eyed Vincent’s booth and completely bypassed the hostess offering him a window seat for two. He sat down roughly.   
Vincent set his menu down.  
“Shall we order first?” He waved a waiter over, and ordered without looking at his menu. 

The waitress, a small brown haired girl with a round face and pretty eyes patted Vincent on the shoulder, “and what will you be having Vince?” 

“Just a small fry.” 

“Honey mustard or ranch.” 

“Uh, ketchup please.” 

She smiled. Jonathan rolled his eyes. She left. 

“She’s in my math class,” Jonathan said leaning forward, “dumb as fuck if you ask me. Probably an ex-retard.” 

“Aren't you in freshman math Cooper?” 

Jonathan sat back. He crossed his arms. “Doesn't matter. I fail that class by choice. She can't tell her X's from her Y’s. Plus I don't need that shit where i’m going. It’ll be useless.” He plucked a straw from the basket and ripped the top off. He put the straw in his mouth and blew the wrapper all the way across the booth. It landed next to Vincent.

“And where is it you are going?” 

Jonathan smiled. It was pleased and excited. Vincent saw a hidden child in that smile. “I'm gonna go live with my dad, in Cali. Where the palm trees shade my pool and all the girls want to come over to my house. I'm gonna get tan Vincent. Tan as fuck. Also ripped. That too.” He made a dreamy expression. “Gonna change my name.” 

Vincent scoffed. “You are gonna live off of your dad. Good for you. So while the rest of us are working our asses off in college getting a degree and an actual job you are gonna sit atop a pile of dirty money  _ you  _ didn't earn. Nice of you.” 

“No, i'm going to work for him. He’s got a position all lined up for me.” His voice was grand. Like the possibilities were endless. 

“Like that's any better.” 

“I'm serious.” 

The waitress came back. Vincent relaxed in his seat. A Pepsi was set down in front of him. “Sorry, but I didn't order this.” He nudged the drink away from him. 

The waitress smiled. “It’s on me.” She set down his basket of fries.

“Oh,” Vincent looked to his drink. “Thanks.” He felt bad about it for some reason.  She placed a napkin next to him after giving Jonathan his food and moved back to her place behind the counter. There was a phone number scrawled across the paper. 

Jonathan reached across the table and picked up the napkin. “Pathetic,” he said as he wiped up the ring from his drink with the napkin. “She could at least have the balls to say something to you.” 

Vincent pushed his drink away. “What does your father even do?” 

Jonathan paused. He looked up. He was wearing another smile, “Things.” 

“Things?” 

“Oh, that reminds me.” He sat up. He picked his burger up. The special in house made sauce dripped from the bun. He had avocado on the corner of his mouth when he finished taking a bite. Though his mouth was full of food he spoke around it, “I have an offer for you.” 

Vincent squirted some ketchup onto the wax paper and dipped one of his steak fries in it. “What?” 

“Well I heard what happened to your parents. Horrible. But I thought I could help. Instead of working in this dump,” He made an expansive gesture to the building, “You could work for me.” 

It took a long time for Vincent to speak.   
“No.” 

Jonathan glared at him. “You don't even know what for.” 

“No.” 

Something snapped inside Jonathan. “Would you just listen-” 

“No.” 

“ _ Why?”  _ he growled low. 

“I have a brother to think about. And my dad.” 

“That’s not a valid reason.” 

“It is to me.” 

Jonathan started back at him.

Vincent swallows thickly, “Anyways, everyone knows your money is dirty. I don’t want that life.”

Jonathan reached over and stole Vincent’s Pepsi. His gulp was deep and long. He made sure to wipe the side of his mouth after he was finished. “We both know you need the money. Daddy cant pay the bills all by himself and Mommy’s too dead to care.”    
Vincent shoved his basket of fries at Jonathan. The silverware and metal basket all clattered to the ground when he deflected it. There was a red splatter of ketchup on the floor and fires littered the tile. Jonathan clucked at the mess and shook his head. 

“Sorry, did I hit a nerve?” he said shallowly. 

Vincent twisted his mouth by way of reply. 

“It’s sink or swim Palayo. Call me when you come to your senses.” Jonathan stood and sidestepped the mess. Before he left he plopped a twenty dollar bill onto the table alongside the money used to pay his and Vincent’s bill. “Buy Roman some dinner. God knows David can't feed himself anymore let alone his son.” 

It was the truth and it hurt. 

Vincent almost rose from his seat and choked Jonathan, but he was already too far away and the waitress was already approaching him. 

She frowned at the mess. Something about her expression still read pleased. “What a shame.” She tsked and knelt down to scoop up the silverware.  

Vincent hurried to help her. 

She was quiet, and handed him a wet rag for the ketchup. 

After, Vincent handed her the twenty, “Can I get a bacon burger and medium fry?” 

“Soda or orange juice?” She asked.

“Do you have milk?” Roman didn't like orange juice, and didn't need the caffeine this late at night.

“Yeah. For here or to go?” 

“To go. Thanks.” 

A few minutes later she came out and handed him the greasy fast food bag. She was still smiling. Vincent found it hard to not look miserable when he grinned back. He thought he managed that because he heard her giggle when he push open the door. 

Roman was sitting outside when Vincent pulled up to their house. 

He handed him the bag. “There’s dinner.” 

Roman muttered a thank and reached up to take it. He was still frowning. He hadn't said more than one word replies since they’d gotten home from the hospital. It was concerning, that had been three weeks ago. Roman set the bag down next to him on the porch. Concerning, but understanding.

“Did you already eat?” Vincent asked. 

“No.” 

“So your just not hungry?” 

“No.” 

Vincent let out a sigh. “Just don't feel good?” 

Roman didn't even have to nod for Vincent to know it was the right answer. The steps creaked at Vincent took a seat next to him. 

Vincent patted his leg. “Why are you out here instead of inside?” 

Roman dully jerked his head back to the front door.  
“Dad?” 

Roman nodded. 

Vincent sighed again. He scrubbed his face with his palms. 

He couldn't breathe.

Roman was struggling too.

“Will he be okay?” Roman asked softly.

“I dont know.” 

It was the truth and it hurt. 

“Will we lose the house?”

“How do you know about that?” 

“I'm fourteen i'm not dumb.” 

Vincent watched his brother. He was young. God why did he have to be so young. His hair was dark, his eyes red from crying so much, his mouth in a frown Vincent was beginning to get used to. “I'll take care of it.” 

Roman looked at him. His lips quivered. Vincent knew Roman could see just how broken their family was at the moment, and it hurt. 

“I miss her.” Roman said. 

Vincent hissed in a breath. “Me too. Me too Roman.” The way he missed her was almost unspeakable. Every inch of his body grieved the loss. She was there, she was dancing in their kitchen. Just last month she had sat at the kitchen table and help Vincent with his math. He remember every word, every lecture, every scolding. He bathed in it all. The tambor of her voice, and cadence in her words. He felt it like a gaping wound in his very own self.

“Why did he do it? Dad. Why did he make them kill her?” Vincent was watching his brother die from the inside out.   
If Vincent closed his eyes, he would hear his mother singing. If he closed his eye he could recall Roman’s electric smile. If he closed his eyes, his father would be laughing. 

Every breath was like he was inhaling a mouthful of smoke. 

“He had too. It wasn't easy.” 

“Why didn't you stop him?” Roman was crying. He was talking furiously, “Why didn't you make them stop, why didn't you let him see it would hurt this bad.”

“Roman he had no other choice.” 

“NO!” Roman stood up, “Don't say that! There was something he could have done, anything other than what he did! Why did you let her die Vincent!” He let out a sob, it caught in his throat. It rattled his chest and his tiny body. It hurt like when his father sobbed against his shoulders, it hurt like when his mother’s machines stopped whirring, it hurt like the hiss of a cigarette against the concrete and the clatter of silverware against the floor and the bang of a locker closing. 

Vincent wanted to hug him. He wanted to sing him all the songs their mother used to sing. He wanted him happy and safe and alive and-

He wanted his mother. And his father. 

“Roman, it’s not easy for any of us.”

Roman shook his head. 

He ran. He ran far enough Vincent couldn't see his figure in the dark. 

Vincent couldn't breathe. 

A cigarette between lips. An offer of help. A life he didn't want, but was better than any option he had before him. _A way out._ _A way in._

Whatever it was, if it made his brother come home, Vincent would take it. 


	18. The Guilty Party

Roman could hold on forever.   
Back in the house everything lay quiet. It had been silent a lot but this, this was different. Nothing moved, nothing thought about moving. Except for the rain that pattered the windows. The storm had finally broken, and thunder rolled across the town. The sun was higher in the sky though hidden by thick clouds. It had taken a while to get home. Now Roman sat on the floor like he had done many times. Enzo, his body weak from so much effort, sat between Roman’s legs, his arms wound tight around Roman. Resting his head in Enzo’s neck Roman breathed him in. It felt right. With every breath that danced across Roman’s skin made him feel solid and sure. Much better than he had felt. 

But still, he floated miles and miles above the earth. Wondering, worrying, fussing. 

This is what he wanted. This. Enzo. And just Enzo.    


But he couldn’t stop seeing Vincent. Roman had witnessed the way Vincent flinched at Joe’s touch. The true and genuine pain he tried so hard to hide, and that Roman tried so hard to ignore. It was like an optical illusion, when everybody else could see the figure in the ink blots but you couldn't. And then suddenly, it was there, and it had been there all along and,  _ why _ had you not seen it earlier. Then it was all you could see. 

It clouded Roman’s vision. It choked him. 

Vincent had become an ant under Joe’s foot. Joe felt no pain in grinding Roman’s brother into the pavement. And the way he grouped him, just to see the expression on his face. He felt the rage he’d felt earlier, every inch of his skin itching to deep his fingers in Joe’s throat. Then he thought about Vincent. His mind was a storm but Vincent was the eye. It was a strange feeling, because the anger, the hurt, the blind rage was directed elsewhere. It was at himself. It was guilt. It was fear and shame, white hot shame that coated his throat and stung his skin. It was burning him and he wanted to rip his skin off. To take it all back. Oh god how he wished to take it back. Because he could see. He could fucking see it, and it was there it had always been there and Vincent had always been dying. He’d been drowning, and calling out for help and begging and just, just asking for Roman to acknowledge his pain. But Roman. God Roman had been selfish, why had he been so fucking selfish. He was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

When Vincent looked at him, with his brown eyes it was all “Don't worry. Don't worry about me.” 

His brother, knowing that Joe was going to hurt him, knowing that he would be reduced to nothing at the hand of that man did it so his brother could be happy. He was asking nothing of it return.

And then Roman realized he was sobbing. He wasn’t crying he was sobbing. His chest was being ripped from his chest. He missed his brother. 

Enzo drew back, face ruin with worry. “What's wrong? What’s wrong?”  He was furiously wiping away the tears streaming steadily down Roman’s cheeks. 

Roman collapsed, the earth quakes traveling through him too quickly to sit up anymore. Roman was so relieved, because Enzo was here, in his arms and breathing and here and okay. On the other hand Vincent was not. Roman wanted his brother, his big brother. He wanted his Vince and it was tearing him apart. 

“God I’m such a fucking idiot.” Roman mumbled through tears. He leaned forward, head in his hands. He put himself in Enzo’s lap and let the loss wash over him. “How did I not see it?”

Goddamn he was so wrong. 

“Because you were hurting.” Enzo ran an hand through Roman’s hair. It soothed him. But he still couldn't stop crying. Enzo sat there with him. He was quite, while Roman was rocked by wave after wave of remorse. Each leaving him shivering in his own skin. 

Years ago, at the hospital Vincent had stood by, watching. Roman’s brother became something that day. Hard and untouchable. He became blind that day and Roman had yet to see him as anything but. Because when they did it, when they killed this women, this beautiful women, when Vincent stood by and did nothing and they let Roman’s mother die, Roman died to o. But Vincent had made himself smaller and smaller and smaller each day afterwards. Selling bits of himself to people, to Joe, and Roman. Roman might have died that day but he was alive, and he had what he wanted, because of Vincent. 

And he’d told Vincent it was his fault. 

When Roman looked up his eyes were raw. His mouth even sadder. Snot glistened on his upper lip. Enzo took his sleeve and wiped it away. “He loves you Roman. And I think he knows you do too.” 

Roman looked at his hands. They were shaking. He felt like a little kid. When he would have nightmare and wander out into the hall late at night. Usually he was afraid of waking up his parents so instead he padded into Vincent’s room and climbed under his blankets. Vincent would mumble but roll over and talk Roman to sleep. It had been a long time since that had happened, but Roman felt like that again. He just wanted his brother.

“What are we going to do?” Roman asked brushing his tears away. 

Enzo fixed him with a meaningful look. “About what?” 

Roman swallowed, “Patrick.” 

With a sad expression, Enzo looked away. He wasn’t upset, just the topic worried him.   
“He’s coming back Enzo.” Roman said. He touched his arm. “Now that Vincent is gone-” 

“I know.” 

Enzo put his hands around Roman and pushed him down on his back. He rested his head on Roman’s chest and stretched out behind him. “I’m not leaving you.” he said like it would scare Patrick away. With that he squeezed Roman and closed his eyes. 

Roman dragged Enzo back upstairs and they fell asleep. Enzo was beyond tired. Joe had not let him sleep, and he hadn't slept much the night before. So as soon as he hit the pillow he crashed. It was good. Once again being surrounded by Roman’s heavy weight. Joe had been scary. He was all smiles where they didn't belong and wandering fingers. 

Enzo’s wrists ached. Joe had zip tied him to a chair in the hotel. He’d fought, but not for long. Soon his restraints dug into his skin and he began to nod off. That’s when Joe started to threaten him. Things that made Enzo’s stomach turn. And in his sleepless haze he had said things, and he couldn’t quite recall what it was that he had told him. 

He tried not to think of it. 

A few hours later he woke. The sky was a deep blue, only beginning to turn to dark.    


Joe had also starved him, not feeding him or giving him anything to drink. Suddenly Enzo was very thirsty. He tongue stuck to his mouth. Slowly, Enzo swung back the covers and stood up. He wobbled a little, and then put on Roman’s hoodie and went down stairs. He padded into the kitchen, shadows played in the corners of the house. He averted his eyes, waiting for his father to poke out and pounce on him.   
Enzo turned the corner. There was a figure standing by the sink. The breath in Enzo’s lungs went stale. 

Then he realized, it was only Chris. Enzo stepped into the kitchen. Chris’ blond hair was dark in the shadows, and his shoulders looked exhausted. He slumped over the sink, watching drops of water fall into the drain. 

Enzo went to get a glass from the cabinet. Chris didn’t move. Usually Chris would be about the house, taking care of someone and ensuring everything was okay. Or may at this time, be asleep. Now he stood, hands grasped around the lip of the sink and eyes distant. He finally moved when Enzo came over to fill his glass. Enzo downed the entire thing, and then filled up another glass and downed that one too. He wiped his mouth and filled another glass. 

“Are you okay.” Chris croaked. 

When Enzo met his steady but empty gaze he didn't reply. Instead he took another gulp off of his water. With a clink Enzo sat the glass down, “Yeah just sore.” It was mostly the truth. His shoulders ached and his head was full of pressure but for the most part he was okay. Roman was here and Joe should have been long gone. Feeling a sting Enzo looked down at his cup. He was standing here thankful that Vincent had gone with Joe while Chris sat here probably trying not to cry. Enzo rubbed at his neck. 

Chris’ eyes flicked over the exposed part of his arm. The bruises across his wrists were clear and he swallowed at them. “What did he do to you?” 

Enzo waved him off. “It doesn't matter.” He shifted to face the counter. 

Chris started, “Enzo.” Enzo flicked him with a glance, it stopped him for a moment. Then he kept 

going. “You were kidnapped. There is no way that doesn't matter.” 

“I told you Chris, I’m fine. That’s all that matters.” Enzo dumped out his glass and set it into the sink. Turning to leave he let out a breath. Chris caught his arm and spun him around. Enzo hissed at the violent touch, Chris reeled back. The space between them was taught. 

The man’s eyes were heavy. “Vince told me what Joe did to him. After he showed up and took you, he fell apart. Started talking about how he would drug him to go along with it. Or how he would keep him up for hours, or beat him, or- the point is, it’s clear how far he’d go to get what he wants. I know what he did to you.” 

“He didn't do shit. Now will you let me go Christopher or are you going to stand here and tell me what happened?” It was a warning, spoke with a silver tongue. Surprise flooded Chris’ face for a second. Enzo’s face was haunted with anger.

“You are not okay.” Chris settled on. 

“I’m fucking fine.” Enzo spat back. 

Chris wouldn't back down. “Are you sure about that?” 

“Yeah. Just as sure as you are Joe raped me.” 

“Enz-” 

“No! You listen to me Chris. I was kidnapped. I was taken. Me. Not you, not Roman and not your sister. So next time we have a conversation like this try to remember it was me. Okay? I told you what happened, you either believe me or shut the hell up. Are we clear now?” 

Chris watched him. His eyes flickered all over Enzo face. The moment they stopped it was like Chris flooded back into himself. Quickly he reached out and caught himself on the lip of the counter. He stumbled and then leaned against it. His breath came quick and sharp. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. Enzo, I’m sorry.” 

The anger flooded from Enzo just as quickly as it had ambushed him. “It’s okay-” 

“No.” Chris flashed a hand, “ I shouldn’t have said that. Or accused you. It was wrong. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Enzo considered the blond. He twisted his mouth and went to stand next to him. “Were all a little on edge.” 

“That’s not an excuse.” 

Enzo sighed heavily. “Look,” he said turning to face Chris, Chris looked at him with soft blue eyes, “ You’re here and I appreciate that. You helped Roman and me, and Vincent too but this isn't your problem. Patrick is still in Clarkston, he’s still angry. And I don't know what my father is capable of anymore.”

“I can’t leave you here. Not alone.” 

“Chris this isn't your problem. I don't want you getting hurt, or Ritter.” This was his father, and his issue to solve. Chris and his sister had stuck by them for now, but after seeing how far both of them would go for any of them Enzo was worried it would be too far. His father was in a bad place and Enzo was going to control the cross fire. 

“This became my fight when they fucked with Ritter. This became Ritter’s when she was attacked.” Chris pointed up towards the spare bedroom, “ I don't care if I have to fend off a man who runs a drug cartel and committed horrible crimes. He doesn't scare me, running does.” 

“Are you sure about this-” 

“Yes.” 

They were quiet for a long time. “So you and Vincent are…” Enzo said. 

Chris bowed his head. “Yeah.” 

“And now that Vincent ran off with Joe?” 

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” Chris scrubbed at his face. He looked rumpled. Wearing the same clothes as a few days ago, and having little time to relax. Enzo wondered faintly at how he was able to hold himself together under all the weight of it. Roman had broken down earlier, but here was Chris. Worn, but still resilient. “I guess I feel the same way, but he’s just...gone.” He waved it off, finally pushing himself of the counter. “Well i’m off to bed. See you tomorrow.” He looked unsure as he sent Enzo a smile and wandered upstairs. 

Enzo wavered in the kitchen for a little. He watched the dark bowels of the house and the sharp rain outside. All of it seemed tranquil and untouchable. He became a body, rather than Enzo. And his insides stilled. His mind went blank as he traced the outline of the tree outside.

With little ceremony he went back upstairs, leaving the house to sleep. Roman was still tucked underneath the blankets, and the bat still lay next to him. He wasn’t giving it up any time soon. Enzo tried his best to be quiet and quick as he pulled back the blankets and settled back down next to Roman. 

Roman jerked awake. He sat up. Enzo caught his hand before it could fly to the bat. “Whoa! It’s just me.” He said trying to sooth Roman’s frantic expression. Brown eyes flickered over him before Roman let out a breath and relaxed. 

“Where are you going.” He asked groggy. 

Enzo smiled. “I was just getting something to drink. I’m back now.” 

Roman swallowed and nodded his head. Letting his hand drift from the wooden bat. Instead Roman reached out and took Enzo’s hand. He pressed his lips to the pulse point, eye’s closed. When he pulled back he examined the bruises and burns across his skin from the zip ties. Enzo saw how he swallowed all the venom in his throat. “Are you okay?” He said turning Enzo’s hand to look at the other side.   
Enzo, now sitting comfortable in the mess of blankets, replied, “always.” 

“What did Joe do? No, Enzo, answer the question or I will think the worst.” 

Enzo closed his open mouth in an attempt to silence his argument. It took him awhile, Roman was patient. This was the Roman he had missed, the calm, comforting and slow Roman. The one that didn't push, or pry, was just there and knew what Enzo needed. Enzo wanted desperately to talk about it, but it felt stupid. Vincent was off living it, why should he be here talking about what little abuse he went through? But Roman needed him to say it, to know that Enzo was going to be okay. “Talked mostly.” 

Enzo felt sick with his answer. 

Sensing it, Roman cupped Enzo’s face. His thumb dragged across his skin. “About what?’ 

“Everything, anything.” Enzo let his eyes flutter close. “He just wanted to keep me awake. And-and then-” Enzo took Roman’s hand and held on tight. He tried to still the storm thundering around in his chest. He remembered the drag of Joe’s hands against him. Or the smell of his tobacco lined breath clouding his mind. Or the bite of his teeth- Enzo kicked the thoughts away. He focused only on Roman’s touch. “He made me talk. Said that if I didn't he would do...things. I talked for awhile, afraid to stop. I thought he was going to do it anyways. H-he had this look.” It was a dangerous look. One he was used to getting from his father, and the jolt of that blank expression had been surprising. It told you that nothing you said or did would stop him from doing what he wanted. “Then he just got up and walked away. He never did anything but I thought he would.” 

Roman hugged him then. At first it was more for Roman than Enzo, but it quickly turned. Fear gnashed at him, clawing his stomach and heart to shreds. All Enzo could smell was Roman. It was light and airy. Enzo muttered his words into Roman’s shoulder, trying to get them out while he still had the nerve. “I don't know if you know. But he’s worse with Vincent.” 

Roman pulled away to look at Enzo. Enzo couldn’t read his strange expression. Enzo saw the anger flood through him and panicked for a second. He worried Roman had returned to his old self. That Roman still blamed Vincent, that he was mad Enzo was showing compassion towards him. But then Roman said, “Were getting him back.” 

“What?” Enzo said, still dazed. 

“That shit head is not allowed to keep my fucking brother.” 


	19. Eggs and Epiphanies

Ritter was playing with Enzo’s guitar. Somehow she'd gotten her hands on it and sat tranquil on the counter. Plucking the strings and strumming on the cords there was a bitter sound traveling through the air. Her hair was pulled back. She was wearing one of Roman’s shirts. Roman took a moment to examine her face, she appeared almost distant. Like her thoughts were far away instead of on the stove she had her eyes trained on.    


Chris was at the stove, violently disciplining a pan full of eggs. He scowled at it and gave it a good shake.    


When Roman walked in the siblings were talking. 

“Why now? Why?” Chris said, still stabbing the eggs with his spatula. 

Ritter drew out another sour note. She didn’t answer.

By the looks of it this conversation was mostly for Chris. His thoughts spilling up and out. Ritter sat patiently as he threw up his worries on her. Roman rapped on the door frame. 

“It doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Chris muttered into his breakfast. Wafts of steam floated up, swirling into the air with Ritter’s music. 

Enzo wandered in behind Roman. Dark smears tainted the skin underneath his eyes, but he’d found his smile this morning. Only, it went away when he saw Chris’ bad mood, “What’s up?” He asked, voice stale with concern. 

Chris’ shoulders were tense. He twisted his mouth and leaned against the edges of the stove. His blue eyes appeared nothing like they usually did. There was an ocean of pain behind the bright color, and it suffocated his features. “Vince…” Chris scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Enzo’s hand snaked underneath Roman’s arm and tugged him closer. “Vincent said he signed t-that contract with his boss. And-well he was free to go, wasn’t he?” He looked up, searching for support in the gathering crowd. Ritter strummed a violent note. Chris kept going, “Joe fucking let him go,” he choked back a breath, “and now all the sudden he comes back for him. That doesn't make sense. Why did they let Vincent go and then all of the sudden retract it? It’s not fucking fair.” He heaved a sigh and picked up his spatula again. Then after a long drag of silence he considered his food. “I was trying to make an omelette, but this is just scrambled eggs now.” 

Enzo flicked Ritter a look that she didn't catch. She was too busy staring out the window. The storm last night had left the yard a scattered mess. Tree branches lay across the driveway, torn from their homes in the night. The gutters dripped. 

Roman took a swelling breath and watched as everyone failed to speak.    


No one had any answers.    


Except Ritter.    


Finally she lifted her head and fixed her brother with a sharp stare. “You know what Grandma would say to you right now?” Chris glanced at his sister. “It’s not right to have that much blood in your dick and so little in your brain.” 

“That’s fowl.” 

“But true.” Ritter quipped, a smile peaking on the edges of her mouth. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Chris’ shoulder had suddenly relaxed. 

Ritter set the guitar on the counter. “I  _ mean,  _ you are asking a valid question but the only functioning part of your brain is too busy going,” she fixed a high pitched annoying voice for this part, “ _ Vincent, Vincent! He’s sooo handsome. I miss him.  Too bad he’s got to be martyr, I really wanted to suck his _ -” she deadpanned, “dick.” 

Enzo snorted a laugh. Roman had trouble keeping down his grin as Chris swept Enzo with a searing glare. Chris turned back to her sister. He crossed his arms; Ritter smiled like it would make it better but Chris had turned all grown up on her. Roman could feel the condescending parent gaze he was sending his younger sister, he had seen it too many times. 

Finally Ritter broke under the pressure and started talking, “Okay, look.  _ Think  _ about it.” She looked at Enzo and grinned. They shared a blissful moment as his laughter subsided. Then she turned back to her serious voice, “What does Joe gain from hauling Vincent back to California?” 

She was met with silence.    


To turn the conversation around she straightened; in a different voice she said, “Okay then. Did anyone see the burn marks on Joe’s wrists and hands?” She evaluated her audience. Roman retraced his memories for any recollection of the scars. At the time he’d been too focused on other matters to really pay attention to Joe- that is other than spewing hateful remarks. Seeing that no one was familiar with anything she was saying she continued. “Well I did. Some of them were fresh, most of them scars. Enzo, ring any bells?” 

Roman turned to Enzo. He could see he was working hard at his thoughts too. Enzo looked up and his eyes shined. “Yeah. B-back at the hotel, Joe talked about them.” 

Ritter and him held a beat of intense silence, then quietly she inquired, “Who gave them to him?” She said it like she had the answer already. In her mind she had this all figured out, but she was trying to lead everyone else to the right answer. Roman searched the stare the two shared for details about what they both now clearly understood. Ritter said, more to Roman and Chris than Enzo, though she held his gaze, “They were made by cigars. Joe, from how he held the hammer, is left handed. Now explain to me how you would one burn yourself -with a cigar no one under the age of thirty smokes- with your non dominant hand long enough for it to scar and not flinch or drop said cigar?” 

“They were made by someone else?” Chris asked half surprised half confused.    


“His father.” Enzo said with little pause between Chris’ question and his answer. Finally Enzo broke Ritter’s stare, he met Chris’ eyes, “Did Vincent ever talk about Joe’s dad?” 

Chris’ eyes fluttered around the floor. “Nothing other than he hated Joe.”

“Exactly.” Ritter said, “Now why would Joe want Vincent back in California?” 

Again everyone was quiet. Bravely Chris spoke up, “For comfort. Maybe so that Joe would have someone he could control or manipulate. To regain his power.”   
Enzo shook his head. “Possible. But wrong. If Joe really wanted a toy then he would get a new one.” Enzo paused. He swallowed thickly, “He did it to make his father happy.”   
Chris raised an eyebrow. “Because blackmailing an ex-employee -who you already made the decision to let go- to return to work would make Joe’s father happy.” Chris waved it off like it was impossible. “Risk exposing the cartel and mucking up the entire business so that they could have one good worker.” 

“Yeah.” Enzo replied like it made perfect sense. Once he explained it, it did. “It’s surprising to see just how far one would go to get even a little validation from their parental figure. And plus if abuse is mixed in, that distance quadruples. Vincent is good for the business, Joe’s father probably blamed him for Vincent quitting and the beatings got worse and more frequent. Then it drove Joe to see the only solution he saw. Vincent. And when Vincent, the man who Joe had given everything to still didn't want him, he went after the thing holding him back. Us.”

Chris watched Enzo with a strange expression. Roman swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. It was clear just how close Enzo felt to Joe, beside all the shitty stuff he’d done, Enzo and Joe, well they were two sides of the same coin.    


Ritter broke the strange lull, “If Joe wants his father’s validation, then what would make him more pleased than bringing Vincent back?” 

This was it. This was Roman’s answer. The wheels began to turn and then suddenly everything 

clicked into place. Roman looked up and met Ritter’s glimmering eyes. “Patrick.” 

Everyone looked to him.    
He explained. 

“When he first came back to Clarkston Vincent told me a rival gang was causing trouble. Now we 

know _Patrick_ was the one running it. What’s better than gaining a worker who can compensate for the competition, and would get rid of the need for the worker in the first place?” he looked away from Chris’ stunned expression. “Getting rid of the competition all together.” 

“What does that mean?” Chris asked shocked. 

Roman just fixed him with a look. 

“You’re not talking about getting Patrick Abbott arrested, are you?” 

“No.” 

“So...y-you want to kill Patrick Abbott?” 

“No. We trade Vincent for Patrick. Let Joe and his daddy take care of the rest however they 

want.” Roman felt almost proud. Something in him flickered to life, stirring the gears of his thoughts. Next to him Enzo analyzed the ground. He was working hard through his thoughts. Roman felt bad for suggesting such a thing, but he knew Enzo would most likely not be as offended as Roman thought him to be. 

Ritter leaned back, hands clasped together in front of her, “Now how are we gonna wrangle up Patrick.” 

“We’re not going to do anything. He’s going to come to us.” 


	20. Phone Calling Me Home

The room was silent. Bar the the repetitive ringing coming from the phone sitting on the counter. Everyone had gathered around the island, faces pensive and twisted. Roman, his attention on Vincent’s phone couldn’t bring himself to look away. Chris too leaned closer and closer as the seconds dragged on. Ritter has helpfully pointed out that they might want to make Joe aware of the situation as to keep him in the state. Kidnapping was risky business, and they didn't want to keep Patrick in the house for too long. It was apparent she had had time to think all of this over.

It rung, and rung, and rung. Until finally it stopped. Chris flicked a heavy gaze over the group and then snatched the phone up. With quick fingers he clicked on Joe’s name again. He set it -not so nicely- down on the counter and chewed on his lip.    


Roman felt off. Like the everything was tipping to the side, and he was desperately trying to keep himself standing. Vincent had been the enemy for so long, that kidnapping someone for him felt like a sin. But Vincent was his brother, and there wasn’t ever a time where he stopped being that. After all Roman had put him through, he owed this to his brother. This was his debt. This was his sacrifice. 

“Hell _ oo _ .” 

Someone had picked up the phone. 

By the haunting tease lying underneath the voice Roman understood it was Joe. 

They all glanced at each other.    
“Chris? Is that you?”    
None of them had the nerve to speak. Really they hadn't even talked about what they were going to say. 

There was an irritated scoff, and then a huff, “Stop wasting my tiiime.” No answer. “I’m going to hang up now.” 

“Wait.” This was Chris. His face was ghostly.    


Joe’s voice rose, turning sweet and fluid through the phone. “Ah! Finally some good conversation! Hello Chris! What do you need baby?” 

Everyone saw the way Chris swallowed. He wouldn't meet Roman’s eyes. “Well first off,” Chris started, “I need to hear Vincent.” 

      Romans heart jerked in his chest. 

There was a bit of a shuffle in the background. Then in the foreground Joe said, “Sorry but he’s a bit...tied up.” A laugh pressed through Joe’s voice. 

Roman stung. Then he saw Chris’ white knuckled grip on the counter, and Ritter’s tight hold of his shoulder and he burned. His insides were doing kickflips. Enzo standing on his side, grabbed his hand. It did little, Roman couldn’t feel anything but shame as it choked his lungs. He had done this. He had let this happen. This was a foreign feeling inside him, all the nasty black tendrils snarling up at him at taking his heart for a sprint. He thought about Vincent, broken and bruised. Joe and his...he pressed his eyes closed against the bile in his throat. 

Chris’ voice was as strained as Roman felt. “I have something you’re going to want, and if I can’t know he’s okay, 

in the least alive, I won't tell you.” 

Joe snickered. There was another crash, Roman flinched at it, only wondering at what it could be. “Chris you don't have much of a brain in there do you? You see this isn’t simple. My father needs Vincent, and frankly he’s better at our little games than I think you could ever be.” 

Part of Roman died. 

Ritter pressed her forehead to Chris’ shoulder. It was more for him than her. His mouth was 

clamped tightly. He forced his words through gritted teeth. “Just let me hear him.”

“Fine.” 

Chris let out a small breath.    
This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair.

Then there was a bang and a loud grunt, Chris watched the phone like it was a video camera and he could see Vincent’s face. They all subconsciously inclined to hear. Consequently the house fell silent again. Even Ritter’s searched desperately for the sound of Vincent’s voice.

“Hey! Get up! Daddy wants to talk.” 

Tension pulled on the room. No it heaved.   


Someone, not Joe, guessing by the distance the noise came from, groaned in protest. This was a  tired sound, not of annoyance or moody teenage whim, but of utter exhaustion. The kind you only used when you were too weak to mutter anything else.    

Roman’s chest broke in half at the sound.    
Enzo tapped his restless hands against Roman’s hand.

“Pretty boy, Chris is on the line.” 

There was a shuffle then Vincent’s voice rang through. “Chris?” He seized on the other end and started up in a coughing fit. 

Chris put his hand over his mouth and turned his head away. Tears lashed at Roman’s eyes. This was his brother. Roman finally saw it. 

“Yeah it’s me.” Chris said trying to compose himself. He did well with his voice but the rest of his body failed miserably. 

“What did I tell you Christopher?” Vincent finally managed. “You’re so stubborn.” 

Chris let out a wet laugh, it was forced and small but it was there. “Yeah.” Then after a beat of Vincent’s labored breathing Chris whispered, “It’s good to hear you.” 

Before anyone could reply Joe’s voice returned. “Satisfied?” 

Chris immediately turned aggressive, “No, give the phone back.” 

“I’m sorry baby, I can’t do that.” Joe clucked.    


“Why?” Roman piped in. Enzo squeezed his arm.    


Joe feigned surprise. “It appears we have an audience. Anyway, Rome, honey, I need Vincent to save his energy for other things. His mouth is needed elsewhere.” 

There are moments that are excruciating. Where you want so badly to act on something, whether it be anger or sadness or pent up energy. Where you cannot fathom another minute not doing something productive, and then, you can’t. When there is a nothing you can do but sit and thrash and scream and wail and bleed out. Roman felt madness claw his insides to shreds as he stood in the kitchen. “Patrick Abbott.” Roman said clearly.    


There was a pause. Then Joe replied, “What? What about the bastard?” 

“Patrick Fucking Abbott.” Chris growled. 

“We know about his gang. And all the shit he’s cost your father. We know about the beatings Joe.” Roman said. 

Enzo interrupted. “We know that your father abuses you.” 

Ritter was the last to speak. “Think about how happy your father would be if you came back with the leader of a rival gang. You said you wouldn’t leave empty handed, and you won’t. You will have saved your father.” 

Joe took one long minute. It was an empty minute. On the other side of it he was serious “Why are you telling me this? ” The tone of his voice was surprising, everyone looked at each other in disbelief. Joe was flippant and disregarded everything. But now? Now his voice was low and even, serious and considerate. 

Chris nodded and returned to the phone. “Give us Vincent, and we’ll give you Patrick.” 

“You can’t possibly have Patrick.” 

“Not yet.” 

There was another long pause. “Call me when you have him. Then we’ll talk.” 

The phone disconnected. 

Roman felt dizzy. Chris reached over and picked up the phone. Slowly he brought it up to his chest and clutched it with hard hands. Roman felt something glimmer in his chest. Determination, was the name he settled on. 


	21. This Maybe Be Wrong, Maybe Not

They made one trip to the Ritter’s house. It stood vacant and lonely. Chris and Christine hadn’t returned since Patrick showed. The skies were grey as they all climbed out of the Ritter’s ranger rover, Chris fumbled with the keys; He still reeling from the earlier phone call, finally he permitted them all inside. There Chris wandered into his room and closed the door. Ritter swept Enzo with a glance but quickly turned away before he could say anything. She went upstairs to her bedroom. That left Roman and Enzo alone in the neat house. Everything had a homey purpose to it, paintings and baby pictures lined them softly colored walls, and a knitted blanket was draped across the couch. 

Enzo noted the smell. Like fresh laundry. 

Roman moved towards the hall. Not having anything else to do Enzo followed. They came to a neatly shut door. Roman didn’t hesitate when he opened it. The smell of Vincent hit Enzo’s nose. It was dark inside, just a room of shadows. Roman flicked on the light. The shadows scampered away. Vincent’s bed was neatly made, his closet was closed and nothing lay on the floor. The surfaces of his nightstand and dresser were mostly bare. Roman stepped over to the dresser. Vincent’s watch lay there, expensive and large faced. He touched it.   
Enzo went to sit on Vincent bed. Somehow he felt okay, like walking into Vincent’s room and invading his privacy wasn’t wrong. Maybe because it was the lack of being the room had. It was as if Roman’s brother had never existed and this room was only a product of deep wanting.   
Enzo watched Roman’s back. His black hair was messy, his sweatshirt read PALAYO. His shoulders were slouchy. Inside Enzo felt twisted. Deep confusion ran thick through his veins. On one hand there was hope. Satisfaction that his father might finally pay for his wrongs. That maybe all the bruises and beating might be returned. But then the son in him revolted. It was his father, his dad. His own kind and he felt glee at the idea that he might be brutally murdered. Enzo had a few ideas as to what might happen if they handed Patrick over to Joe. All of them violent and bloody. 

Without turning around Roman said. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

There was a long pause. Roman fiddled with Vincent’s watch. He turned around and stared at Enzo, “Are you okay with this? Your father and everything.” He stopped. An answer queued up in Enzo’s mind but it felt wrong so he didn’t say anything. “It’s a lot. I don't want to do this to you if this isn’t what you want.” 

There was a moment when Enzo thought he might say no, no he wasn't okay with it, no he was disgusted Roman would ever think such a thing would be okay. And then there was another moment where Enzo thought about Roman’s car being hit with another car, and he thought about trying to keep Roman alive he bled out on the pavement. His wrists stung with the rub of cuffs, and his head pounded with the force of his father’s fist. Then he came back. His vision was murky for a second.   
His fist stung. His heart soared.   
Patrick Abbott was the only person in Enzo’s life that was supposed to love him. And he didn’t. 

That hurt. It hurt more than the cuts and the bruises and the punches and the slap and the red hot world speed at him. Maybe it was Enzo’s turn to toe the line of anger. Perhaps Patrick Abbott deserved to lose for once, and maybe Enzo should finally win. 

“Were doing this together. If we go to hell then were going together.” Enzo said firmly. It felt like the right answer.   
Roman almost smiled, but it broke before it happened. “Yeah. Together.” he considered. He came to sit on the bed. When he sat down he let out a huff. Leaning forward he pulled a kiss from Enzo. Enzo felt his breath warm against his lips and sighed. It was right, right, right. 

Down the hall Chris’ door clicked open. Enzo pulled away from Roman. Like he had expected Chris came into the room. His face was wrought and bizzar. He almost stomped over to the closet. He opened the door jerkily. Then he paused. Roman watched him with empathetic eyes. Chris was wavering. Reaching out he brushed a hand over Vincent’s clothes. Then he snatched up one of his sweaters. When he turned around he almost looked startled for a second.   
“What?” he said a little offended.  
“Nothing.” Enzo said with a small grin. 

“Don’t look at me like that. You too do the same thing.” Chris waved a finger between them.   
Enzo rested his head on Roman’s shoulder and smiled. Chris scowled at him.   
“Plus,” he stormed off over to the dresser, “this is just for him.” He opened the drawer and rummaged around in it. Rummaging was the wrong word. He looked like a cat, pawing cautiously nudging a glass off the table. He plopped to pair of pants onto the top of the dresser along with two shirts. Roman chuckled.   
“You need a bag?” He asked.   
“No.” Chris said without turning around, “I’ll just use mine.” 

He collected his prizes and left the room, scraping the watch off the top of the dresser as he left.   
Enzo turned to Roman, “I knew something was up, but when did that happen?” 

“I'm not entirely sure.” 

“Hun.” There was a beat. Then Enzo asked, “So, what's the plan Stan?” 

“About that.” 

After no answer Enzo offered, “well there are four of us and one of him. You’ve got a bat, and zip ties.” It felt stupid.   
But Roman let finally smiled. “Tie him up gang style?” 

“Gang style. Maybe toss em in the trunk and take him to Joe.” Enzo laughed. “I guess we have a plan.” 

“I’ll go tell the  _ gang _ .” Roman stood and let out a breath. 

Enzo stayed in the room. Chris and Roman were talking outside, but they were too quiet for him to hear. He watched his hands. The days had passed so quickly he had trouble remembering them all. Now everything felt odd, like school would be a shocking and mundane process. And that living with Roman, along again, and hanging out with Ritter after school and going to work would be a dream he couldn’t wake up from.   
He thought about his dad. Enzo pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Hi.” He said when the other line picked up, 

“Hello?” 

“This is Enzo, Abbott.” 

“Oh. Hi!” The voice said surprised on the other end. It was a Alexis. 

Enzo picked at his jeans. “I have a weird question.”

“Ookaay.” Alexis said. She muttered something to the background. There was noise coming 

through the phone. “Well ask it.” 

“Did you ever regret hitting your father?” 

Without hesitation Alexis stated, “No.” Then: “Why?” 

“Even though you got sent away and everything?” 

“I never ever doubted my decision.” She stopped. 

Enzo had his answer. Somehow there was something inside him that stilled, something he didn't 

know had been rubbing. He let out a breath and said, “Okay. Thanks.” 

“Enzo!” Alexis called. “Is everything alright? Is your dad there?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” 

“No Enzo-” 

“I’m okay. Thank you.” Enzo hung up before she could stop him. He tapped the phone against his leg. Vincent’s closet hung open still. He went over to it. Oddly enough Enzo only looked. Vincent’s wardrobe was dull and colorless, much like the uniforms of Clarkston. There was nothing to be said about the similarities of the clothes. Enzo brushed his hand against them. 

Chris popped his head into the room, he was wearing the sweater he’s stolen from the closet. “Were ready.” He said softly. 

“Okay.” Enzo headed out. 


	22. Saying Goodbye

Roman teetered on the edge of sleep. It taunted him, like birds dive bombing the skies. He could almost grasp the edge, almost falling down into sleep, and then he would remember: he was coming. He was coming. The sky was dark. The stars winked at Roman through the open window. Roman shivered under the covers. Somehow Enzo had curled up behind Roman. His hands clutched in a ball at his back. Roman turned over all while trying hard not to disturb Enzo. When he settled Enzo shifted his head and mumbled something, then before Roman could do anything Enzo reached over and wrapped his arms around Roman so he could pillow his head in his chest. 

He was coming.    
Roman felt the bat pressed up against his leg. It was cold. There was something in the line of

Enzo’s brow. Something he hadn’t seen before. Roman watched it, examined the shadows as they mulled over his features. His nose was shrouded in blue moonlight.

Roman circled his thumb on Enzo’s ribs. Feeling the bones the joints, the warmth. Enzo’s eyes fluttered in sleep. 

And then he heard it. The thump. It was heavy and far away. It defend him. All at once the hairs on Roman’s arms stood up, his heart banged around his chest. Enzo sucked in a breath and sat up. His hair fell around his panicked face. Roman followed too. None of them said a word. Just waited. 

It came again. 

Roman found the bat with his hand. Enzo wrapped his fingers around the kitchen knife he’d hidden under the pillow.   
Thump. 

They were out of bed in an instant. Roman feet touched the cold ground, wind raced across his bare chest, Enzo’s eyes grazed over him. Moonlight shattered across the floor boards. Enzo was the first to the door, he didn’t paused before he jerked it open. 

Roman’s heart went, thump thump thump. Thump. 

He was here. He was not coming, he was here.    


The scream was muffled and quiet. Somehow it sound more animalistic than human. The breath in Roman’s chest went dead. The floor bent and swayed. Roman felt his stomach drop out of his chest. Everything swirled. 

He woke up. 

Enzo’s breath danced across his chest, his hands were tight around Roman. Roman couldn't tell when he’d fallen asleep and when he’d woken up. The lines between dreams and reality were all blurred. He sucked in a breath, the warm earthy scent of the home unfurling in his lung, and then exhaled. The shakes traveling through his hands slowly dissipated. He was awake. Enzo was here. Something had woken him though, what was it? 

_ Thump. Thud.  _

This was a very very real sound. Before Roman could realize he had been dreaming about everything but the noises and the thing that had woken him was the very very very real Patrick Abbott moving about their house, someone screamed.    


It was Ritter. 

Enzo shuddered, the word he mumbled as he was hurled awake lost in the echo of Roman’s heart inside his chest. “Shit shit shit shit.” he said. 

Roman couldn’t move.    


The scream broke off. It was traded out for a merciless bout of banging. The walls vibrated with it. Enzo flung himself out of bed and tore out of the bedroom. The door hung open, a maw to Roman’s fear. The bat pressed against Roman, it begged, pleaded, to be used. Suddenly Roman snapped back. He keeled out of the room. In the hall everything was painted deep blue, Roman slammed into the wall on the other side. His head snapped against the drywall. His feet skidded. The bat was in his hand. He wished he’d put nails in it. Enzo wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t there.   
He was gone. 

Roman pushed himself off the wall and bounced the bat in his hand.

_ Shit shit shit shit shit.  _

If not for still being alive Roman could have swore his pulse had run itself off the tracks. There wasn’t anything out of place, except Enzo wasn’t there. Enzo wasn’t there and he should have been. Enzo should be here. He should have been in the hall and-

The bathroom light was on. Roman’s stomach pummeled into his ribs, tripped skidded and then finally tumbled onto the floor. He took a endless step. And then another. The bat was heavy. Enzo was screaming. Roman ran. 

He burst into the bathroom, teeth bared. Toothbrushes were scattered across the floor.   


Patrick was dressed in a thin grey shirt and ratty jeans. His hair was long and greasy, he had scruffy facial hair. With one had he gripped Enzo’s throat, in the other he held his arm. In one fluid and terrifying moment he brought Enzo up, it was lightning quick but Roman saw everything: Enzo’s wide eyes and desperate mouth. Patrick’s bared teeth and cruel eyes. The tub. Patrick tripped Enzo with a foot and brought him down onto his back. Enzo landed in mess of limbs and a shouted cry in the tub. His body made a sicking sound. Hollow and broken. The sound of bones against metal.

It echoed around the inside of Roman head. 

Suddenly Roman couldn’t take it. He brought the bat over his head and charged. Patrick saw this coming, after slamming Enzo down into the bathtub he pivoted and kicked out. The impact shoved Roman’s gut back where it belonged. He gasped. All the air was gone. Technicolor light flickered on the edges of his vision, Patrick frowned at him. He fell back. His head hit the ground with a wet slap. 

Pain flared up immediately. Noise filled his ears. He felt it when Patrick pressed the cold cuffs into his wrist but he couldn’t think about it enough to decide to fight back.   
Enzo curled into himself in the tub. Groans and cries filling and bouncing off the tiled floors. Patrick smelt like sweat. He gripped Roman’s wrist pulled him over to the towel rack and hooked the other end of the cuffs to it. 

The world was dark and intangible. 

 

-

 

Sense slowly filtered back to Roman. Bits and pieces. A sound there. A shard of light here. Then bam! It all came back. Roman winced at the pain in his head and dropped his head against the light. He mumbled something he swore was going to come out as a real world but then it didn’t 

“Rome. Please.”   
He knew that voice.   
“Roman just wake up.” 

Enzo.    


The light hit him like a bulldozer, Roman blinked rapidly against it. He could feel his arm wrenched up at a impossible angle, metal biting into his skin. The tiles pressed at him through his pants. Roman looked up. Enzo came into focus. His eyes swollen, his body weak as it slumped over the edge of the tub. Enzo let out a relieved sob as Roman blinked at him. Enzo’s hand was cuffed to the faucet. His shirt was wet.   
Roman’s head pounded. 

Distantly he heard Ritter and Chris. Their great bangs on a door far away and their muffled screams. It was unreal. What was happening? 

“He locked them in the attic.” Enzo choked out. He bent over the side of the tub and heaved a giant weeze. His tired eyes met Roman’s again. “Something is wrong with-” 

He couldn’t finish his sentence because Patrick was hobbling into the room. Enzo shut up and met his Father’s weighted gaze. Enzo’s lip trembled, he retracted himself back into the tub. Roman gave an experimental tug against his cuffs. Patrick looked to Roman with a blank expression. He shrugged and moved to the toilet. Enzo’s whimper echoed around the room. Roman yanked against his hand. Trying to get free and fight. His head spun but he pulled and pulled and pulled. 

Boredly Patrick leaned over and wrenched the faucet on. Water poured out, splashing across Enzo hand and face. Roman heard it. He felt it. He went still. Enzo’s eyes were wet. Every line in his body shook. Patrick stared off into the wall, hands moving restlessly and the tub slowly filled. 

“You fucking cunt.” Roman spit. Panic filled him making his words come out more strained than accusatory. “You are so fucking pathetic.” He cried. His wrist popped as he gave the cuff another violent jerk. 

“Did anyone ever tell you to respect your elders Roman?” Patrick rolled his head and met Roman with a demeaning gaze. 

“Did no one ever tell you respect has to be earned you fucking waste of air.” 

Patrick huffed and turned around to stare at the wall. After a bit he shut the water off. Enzo watched his every move with his childlike doe eyes. That burned Roman to his bone. He gave the cuff another pull. Patrick tipped his head up to examine the rafters. The lights. The handmade tile. The anquite door. Roman watched him with as much spite as he could muster. “This should have been me. This all should have been mine.” Roman felt the anger in his voice rise just a bit. Enzo cowered in the tub. Water reaching up to frame his body as he clutched to his legs with one hand. His eyes wouldn’t budge from his father. “And then that fucking bitch went and gave it to you.” He said with more bite. Enzo flinched.   
“I had nothing to do with that choice.” Enzo sputtered. 

“You had everything to do with it!”    


Spit splattered all over Enzo’s face. Roman suppressed a scream.    


“You are just a fag who doesn’t deserve any of this!” Patrick shouted. He leaned into Enzo, inches from his terrified face, “I had to go through years of her bullshit and what do I get for it! A fucking sissy for a son and his sad excuse for a mother! And you sit here, and you lie, and you take and take what doesn't belong to you!”    


Roman felt himself crack in half. Patrick was towering over Enzo, gripping at the tub with white knuckled hands as he violently poked Enzo in the chest with the other. Enzo’s face looked like cracked china.Patrick let out a war cry, Enzo finally broke and let out silent sob. And then, before Roman could process Enzo’s pain, Patrick reached out and gabbed Enzo by the face. He slammed him down into the tub. 

Roman couldn’t breathe. 

Enzo thrashed under water. His legs coming up to kick and fight. Patrick held him under benevolently. Roman screamed. He screamed and he thrashed and he was going to break his arm from how hard he was fighting out for Patrick, for Enzo. The water sloshed as Enzo jerked around in the water. It arched over the tub and soaked Patrick’s shirt in it. Roman could see Enzo’s hand. It was out of the water, gripping the wall, swinging wildly in the air as he fought. 

Enzo was dying. 

Roman along with him. 

 

-

 

Enzo felt his father's hands. As they held him under his heart filled with sorrow, and his lung ballooned with water. He choked on it. Everything shriveled. He legs bucked uselessly. He could see his father, black and dark above him as he gritted his teeth and held his son under. He was just a blurry figure. Enzo felt the air across his skin. His hand clawed at it. His lungs were shriveling up. He was burning from the inside out. Everything cracked, white flickered in his vision. He felt his muscles slow. 

This is what it felt like to die. 

-

  
Suddenly Enzo’s hand caught on Patrick’s own face. And in his desperation Enzo dug his fingers and his nails into his flesh. 

Patrick howled and reeled back, cupping his face. 

Enzo burst from the surface of the water, gasping for air. He spit out water across the tile. Roman 

felt the pressure in his chest shatter into a million pieces. Enzo heaved a breath, his eyes were shut tight as he coughed and wheezed. But he was okay. Crying and broken and wet and starved of air but he was okay. 

Patrick lifted himself off up the floor. His face was a ruin with jagged scratch marks. He spit blood into the pool of water on the floor. Slowly, hauntingly, Patrick reached into his pocket. With a heavy sigh he met Roman’s hard eyes and said, “I’ve been told you watched your daddy die in a tub. Now it’s time to watch Enzo die in one too.” 

Patrick pulled out a bottle of prescription pills. 

The world fell around Roman. It sloughed off in giant chunks, dying at his feet. Roman seethed. It 

was like in those dreams, where you tired to run, but something was holding you back. He forgot about the cuffs restraining him. The only thing he felt was the panic and the fear rising in his throat. He hurled himself against the metal on his wrist. He wrenched and howled. Patrick shook the pills. Roman couldn’t find leverage. 

“Rome.” Enzo said. He was collapsed over the edge, eyes wet and voice hoarse. “Roman,” He croaked, “stop. You’re going to break your arm. Roman I know you’re scared but please stop, stop or you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He jerked his head up to look at the towel rack he was connected to. The handcuffs weren’t going anywhere. He couldn’t do anything. He had to sit here. The pain in his arm spread through him, he shut his eyes and let out a sharp sob. It was over. Roman let his head hang, his body slack from the effort. He tried to breath but he couldn’t get around the tears coming out of him.   
Enzo kept talking. “I know this is scary.” His voice was firm and sure. He sounded nothing like the Enzo moment before. He sounded like someone ready to die. “I know this is bad. I know it’s awful. _But you made me a promise._ And I need you to keep it, because I am scared, I am terrified.” He let out a small blubber. “ _I'm scared._ So I need you to be you, I need you to be calm, and okay. I need you to be okay. So stop, please stop.” 

Roman looked up.   
Enzo smiled. His face was wet, his eyes were red and his body was weak and tired. But he smiled. His eyes were shining. “Hi.” He said part laugh part cry.  
Something old rose up in Roman. 

Suddenly it was his mother. Her long black hair and sharp eyes, she was singing in Roman’s head. She was whispering and dancing and twirling around in the memories of his childhood. Then she was old, leaning down in the bathroom to cup Roman’s cheek. Roman pressed his hand into her touch, she grinned, the crows feet around her eyes telling the story of things that never happened. They spoke of all the moments Roman had lost with her. “Hello Romey.”   
And then it was his father’s smile. His light hair grown white from the years. He was laughing and telling dirty jokes. And he was running around the muddy fields with Roman on his shoulders and Vincent at his hip. He came over behind Elizabeth, they smiled at each other, old friends once returned to each other. He knelt down, tussled Roman’s hair. His mouth opened in an easy grin. “How are you doing bud?”  

Roman felt his heart lerch. How he longed to see them again, to feel to hear to have them again. 

Lastly it was Enzo. Roman saw Enzo. That smile, those eyes that goddamned mouth. His hair dark from the water. The relief in the tears as they fell freely down his cheek. Roman saw  _ his  _ Enzo for the last time, electric alive and stubborn, smiling in the wake of something horrible. Screaming into the void. A neon light in a world of darkness. He saw the glorious Enzo Abbot and the father he never deserved. 

Enzo smiled like the first time he saw the house. 

He smiled like the morning after Roman kissed him. 

Before Roman could say anything Patrick leaned over and gripped Enzo’s cheeks. The smile on his face washed away down the drain. Elizabeth and David dissipated. In his palm Patrick held the entire bottle of pills, blue and green winking at Roman. Roman screamed. “No!” 

He was breaking in half. 

His father. His Enzo. His everything, was going to die. He thought about how dark it would be, how much he already missed Enzo. 

He wanted to say goodbye. He never got to.

Enzo’s mouth cracked open from the pressure. Patrick didn’t hesitate in pouring the the pills. 

Some landed messily in the water on the floor. 

Most made it in. 

Enzo jerked. Patrick slapped a hand over his mouth and held his head against the wall. Enzo 

gripped his father’s arm with his free hand. The water sloshed again. A violent sea surrounding Enzo as he fought against death. Roman couldn’t stop. He screamed. And screamed. Like he had when he found his father. He felt the slick slide of skin, the wet slap of his father’s clothed body on the floor. The wrinkled texture of his hands. The white in his skin. 

Enzo caught his eyes. They were calm, pleading and blue.   
Roman choked on his voice. It caught in his chest. 

Enzo thrashed in the water, the pills dissolving on his tongue, he still hadn’t swallowed. Roman glanced to his side, looking for anything. Think. He need to help Enzo. There was a heavy toothbrush holder. One of the few things Effie had left behind. Roman grasped it with his hand and threw. 

It arched through the air. 

It was going to miss, it was going to miss, it was going to- it hit Patrick in the back of the head. 

Immediately he reared back, howling in pain once again. His knee jerk reaction was to clutch his head, he let go of Enzo. Without pause Enzo spat out the pills across the floor. Blue color mixing in with his spit and mudding the water already on the floor. Relief washed over Roman like a soft blanket. Enzo had a string of saliva dripping down his chin. 

Roman didn't have time to process anything. Angry at his spoiled plan Patrick whipped around. He struck Roman across the cheek. Sharp stinging rose up on Roman’s skin but he brushed it off. Patrick growled and fished the keys out of his pocket. Enzo called to Roman, “No. What are you doing?” Quickly Patrick unlocked the cuffs on Roman, but he was too weak to put up much of a fight. Patrick ignored his son and instead grabbed a handful of Roman’s hair and dragged him across the floor. Roman’s knees knocked against the door jamb as Patrick hauled him into the hall.   
Enzo was shouting from the tub. He disappeared from sight. Roman felt everything snap back into black horror. Again.   
No no no no no. 

It was pure fear.

Patrick yanked on his hair again and Roman could feel nothing but the pain. It all consumed him. Patrick moved him towards the stairs, grunting. Roman yelped, Enzo screamed his name. He saw nothing but the bottom of the steps. Patrick shoved him down.   
Roman tumbled and slammed into each hard surface. His shoulders buckled, his arm bent wickedly under his own weight. He hit the floor and rolled from the impact.   
Everything was dizzy. His chest was paralyzed. He wheezed, trying to take in a breath but it was useless.

Hazily he spotted Patrick’s figure at the top of the stairs. Looming like a ghost. 

Roman thought, _this is it. This is how it ends._  
And then something moved behind him. It was Ritter fast and swift as she brought the bat over her head, she didn’t hesitate as she slammed it down on top of Patrick’s skull. 

The man fell forward. 

Roman was surprised at his ability to roll away, he did rolling over onto his stomach. Next he  _ felt  _ the sound of Patrick colliding into the ground rather than hearing it. The man landed with a crash. He was face up, eyes closed and body limp. Then came the pounding of Ritter’s feet on the stairs. She rushed over to Roman and touched him on the arm. He was still a laying on his stomach, the world spinning beneath him. The ground was a rocking boat under him. He was going to throw up. A nasty headache presented itself between his eyes, clawing at Roman’s brain. He crushed his eyes closed and pressed his cheek to the floor. 

“Get the cuffs off me.” He groaned through his sickness. 

Ritter obliged, fishing around in Patrick’s pockets first to get the keys. His eyes were still shut and he didn’t move. Ritter slapped the cuffs off.   
Roman ached as he tried to sit up, barely finding the strength to.  “Whoa. Why don't you just wait here.” Ritter said grasping Roman’s shoulder. 

“Fuck no.” Roman bit back. It took him a few long second to be able to see straight and even longer until he could stand. Ritter handed the key to him with he held out his hand. “Put those cuffs on him.” He said on his way up. Roman crawled up the steps and then limped into the bathroom. 

Roman  felt his chest bend in half when he made it to the bathroom. Chris knelt over Enzo, clutching him desperately. Enzo was sobbing. 

“Move.” Roman said without trying to make it sound less bossy.    


Chris took a second to let go of Enzo, but he did and then permitted Roman over. Roman fell onto the ground and took Enzo’s hand. Enzo watched him with wet eyes. His face scrunched up in another sob as he waited for Roman to undo his restraints. When they were finally off Enzo threw himself out of the water. He jumped onto Roman and slithered out of the tub. They landed in a mess of tangled limbs in a puddle of water.    


Enzo bore down on Roman and buried his face in his neck. His body shook and shook and shook and it wouldn’t stop. Winding his arms around Enzo’s figure Roman closed his eyes again and let himself breathe. 


	23. Make Me Sick

Vincent was already back in his suit. When he had left he had taken the time to leave all of his formal work clothes in the closet. Abandoned, like he meant to leave this life. But it, and Joe, had followed him. 

Now he stood, the night sky above him and Joe’s SUV behind him. Between his lips a cigarette dangled; in his chest, his heart. The cigarette filled his lungs with a sharp taste. He coughed at first but the muscle memory of the habit slowly returned. Joe had given him pain meds, and he was practically swimming in them. The first thing Joe did was run his hands up Vincent’s sides and say, “I missed you,” at which Vincent closed his eyes and wondered if a moment of love could last him a lifetime of this. He ached. 

His thoughts were tattered. Each broken apart by the sharp twist of pain in his muscles. Joe had only beaten him -his men were not accustomed to his ways, and certainly knew Eli wasn’t either- but he took his time pounding a promise of worse things into him.

Savoring Chris’s words Vincent brought the cigarette between his lips and filled his lungs up with the smoke.    
_ It’s good to hear you.  _

__ His voice -low and smokey from the grief- bounced around his mind. 

It didn’t seem like a lot, but it would have to be enough. Joe opened the door and stepped out. He flicked Vincent a crooked smile as he straightened his suit.    
They were matching. 

The SUVs were parked outside a packed club, in the back parking lot. All the signs warned about staff parking but Joe paid no mind as he directed the driver into the spot. In front of Vincent the large black building stood in the dark. The only thing separating it from the night sky were the little stars dotting the endless abyss. 

Vincent dropped his cigarette just as Joe said, “I thought you quit.” 

“I quit a lot of things.” Vincent replied, grinding his cigarette into the ground. “I guess somethings don’t stick.” 

Joe chuckled. Then without ceremony he rapped on the car door behind him. “Tuck your dicks away and lets go, I want a drink.”

The car doors all opened, Vincent stepped aside to let Joe’s men out. There were three, all bulky and square, silent and watchful. They too were dressed in all black -though there outfits had less flare than Joe’s and Vincent’s. Joe swept Vincent with a look and jerked his head towards the club. “Time to party.” 

Vincent followed as Joe stalked around the building. He was only slightly behind him and watched his head bob in the darkness. They made their way around the building and cut through the stretching line. A few of the people scoffed but they just breezed past them. All of people were dressed in exposing clothing, and the girls had short skin tight dresses. Their eyes tugged at Vincent and Joe. Joe smiled back, grinning at them like he liked women.    


The security gaurds barely flicked them a look before stepping aside and ushering them in. Joe pushed through the heavy black doors and then another pair. The music seeped out, filling his ears with a persistent beat, and filling his bones up with the liquid sound. They were on the edge of a larger town next to Clarkston, so the music was strange, electric and had a haunting sound. Vincent’s pulse was replaced by it.    


The floor was wide and big, filled the brim with seething bodies and flashing lights. As they moved around it Vincent could barely see anything. He followed Joe. Every once in awhile his eyes would skirt to the lower dance floor, catch a bit of skin, an eye full of a female face. But it all muddied together under the music.    


The world was at once, blue, green, and purple lights running over the tops of bodies and the thump of music. 

Joe found them a booth, his name written on the whiteboard sitting atop the table. He took it, rubbed his name off and handed it to one of his men. Then he slid into the half-moon shaped booth. Vincent moved in next to him, careful not to get too close. He needed to look like Joe’s colleague but couldn’t bare to get where he could feel Joe’s breath on him. The men fanned out around the booth, arms crossed and faces blank.     


“Why are we here?” he asked flatly.    


Joe’s eyes scanned the bar and the dance floor and the flow of people skirting around the club. Thankfully he didn’t turn them to Vincent when he answered, “Meeting an old friend.” 

It was half of lie, Vincent heard the slide in his voice. 

It didn’t take long for drinks to arrive. A skinny girl wearing a dress you couldn’t notice was short placed a platter of tall glasses and shots in front of them. Joe plucked one off and handed it to Vincent. Vincent placed it on the tabled. “Drink up baby,” Joe said when he noticed, “helps lubricate things.” 

Vincent clenched his jaw and remembered Chris. 

_ It’s good to hear you. _

__ Joe reached over and ran a hand up his leg, it lingered, suffocating Vincent. The men had their backs turned to them, they didn’t know. “You sure you don’t want that?” Joe leaned in. His breath burned Vincent, his lips dragged across his stubble, ripping Vincent’s skin off with every touch. 

Vincent downed the shot. 

It burned too, but then it hit his stomach and he felt better. Satisfied, Joe placed a drink in front of him and smiled. Vincent took a long sip off that too. He gritted his teeth against the bitter taste. 

Joe downed his own shot just as a women split through the crowd. Her cherry red smile flicked over the booth and the guards, her brown hair was tainted with color light. 

 The music tore Vincent apart. The alcohol burned his cuts, left his mouth with a sour taste. 

The women was stopped but the guards, she sent them an upwards glance and then looked back to Joe. She was wearing a low cut dress, and a shiny necklace. “Jonathan.” 

 Joe shifted in his seat and gave the women an appraising look. “Lucky.” 

Lucky smiled. The men let her past, and she slid in next to Vincent. He couldn’t ignore her hairless thigh as it pressed against him. “You called.” 

Her voice was high and fluid. It felt the same as the music in Vincent’s ear. Joe grinned and Vincent found himself impaled on the edges of it. “Yeah, you’re neutral territory, I need a favor.” He was leaning forward to speak over the music. 

Vincent sat between them, wondering, listening. He rarely drank -favoring his mind on the sharp side- so the little booze he had already was seeping into his bloodstream. The music pressed against his skull, all he could hear was the rich bass and eerie vocals. 

      “What kind of favor?” Lucky asked, crossing her legs and exposing even more skin, she sent Vincent a gaze and pursed her lips. “You’ll need something good.” 

Joe waved Vincent a considering look, and then he placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and grinned, “Lucky, I like you, who doesn’t but, I’m not a pimp. I sell drugs, not bodies.” 

 “Same thing.” Lucky said. “Anyways,” she continued, plucking the edges of her skirt down, “it’s up to him in the end.” 

 “Actually it’s not.” 

 Vincent took a hold of his glass and took another long drink. It slid like bile down his throat. He tasted every bit. 

 “What do you want, Johnny.” Lucky said exasperated. 

Smiling, Joe removed his hand.  Vincent felt his mind turn hazy with the booze.“I want Patrick Abbott’s contact.” 

     Vincent jerked back into his body. The liquor bottomed out in his stomach, it swirled around. Joe didn’t meet his eyes. 

 Lucky, a bit curious replied, “May I ask why?” 

The blood in Vincent veins went cold. “Wha-“

    “Reasons,” Joe answered. He traced a finger around the rim of his glass. “Can I have it?” 

What could he want it for? Vincent’s thoughts darted to Enzo and Roman and Chris and Ritter, they rabbited away, afraid of what could happen. Vincent couldn’t breathe, between Joe and Lucky and this ever present threat he was drowning. The music choked him. 

Lucky drew out her phone from her purse, Vincent watched shakily. Joe was beaming. She typed a few things in and then put it away. “I texted it to you. I swear to god if this gets me involved in your little drug war I won’t ever buy from you again.” 

Joe pressed his hand to his chest, “On my honor.” 

She slid out of the booth and melted away into the crowd. Vincent swayed. He felt wrong wrong wrong. “What the fuck are you doing?” Vincent growled low. 

 “There are some things I’d like Abbott to know. That little trick you pulled on him, threatening to kill him, ruin him, it was heartwarming, but it would make my heart sing if I broke it.” The world tipped. The lights bit into Vincent, sinking their giant teeth and pumping the bass into the veins like venom. “I want to see just how much Enzo understands Roman. Did your daddy really overdose?” 

Vincent couldn’t take it. He reached over and downed the rest of his drink. It hit his gut, an icy chill went through him. The voices around him all faded, replaced by the thump of music. It ground down in him. The lights swayed. Bodies and colors all swirling into abstract shapes. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth. Slightly gritty and extremely sweet.

 “What the-“ He was cut off by the familiar feeling, all his muscles liquefying. Except his heart, his heart beat and beat and beat, because he knew. He knew what this was.  

On unsteady legs Vincent rushed out of the booth and crashed past the guards. He stumbled through the crowd, someone brushed his shoulder and his heart seized. They all looked like Joe. He tore through a dark hall and past a very engaged couple to finally the bathroom. 

 It was dark, filled by a red light. The music pulsed through his veins, the drugs along with it. It smelt of sweat and puke. Bursting through the unlocked door Vincent fell next to the toilet. With the rest of his clear mind he took two fingers and shoved them down his throat. His stomach lurched. He dry heaved into the toilet, nothing came out. His eyes watered and he desperately tried again. 

 It was too late, he already felt his grip slipping. 

And then Joe was behind him, his scent filling Vincent’s thoat and making him gag again. Joe grasped Vincent’s hand and removed it from his mouth. Vincent slumped against the toilet. Defeat became him. His body shivered all over, he choked back a helpless sob. 

 “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Joe taunted. He kicked Vincent legs aside and reached up behind him to lock the bathroom door. “It would just make this worse. Be thankful for those drugs, they’re hard to come by.” Joe laughed at his own joke as he knelt down. 

 Joe hiked up Vincent’s jacket and dragged his hands over Vincent ribs. With the rest of his working muscles Vincent jerked. His touch was drowning Vincent, even through his shirt. He wanted to run run run. But he couldn’t. 

      Instead he waited for sleep to wash over him. It always did. He thought of Chris, “I know you. You are Vincent Palayo, you are pulchritudinous inside and out.” 

      As he drifted away Vincent thought,  _ I am Vincent Palayo. I am Vincent Palayo. I am Vincent Pa... _

       Joe gripped his hair and wrenched it up at cruel angle. “No, you stay awake for this.” He growled into his ear. “You need to remember who you belong too.” 

       It wasn’t what he expected. Joe flicked out a knife, and watched Vincent still crumpled against the toilet. Vincent watched him, body too murky to move. He was paralyzed. The world was spinning. Next Joe took out his lighter, the room filled with a soft glow against the stark red light already filling it. Joe was bloody and ghost like. 

       He heated up the dull edge of his small pocket knife. He grinned at Vincent, and while it was still red hot he removed Vincent’s jacket and unbutton his shirt. 

      Vincent closed his eyes. 

       He thought of Roman. 

      Joe pressed the knife to his side.

It tore through him. He jerked but his body was weak from the drugs. Joe wrapped a hand around his neck and held his face on the edge of the toilet. 

     He thought about Chris.

    About Ritter.

    About Enzo. 

_ Nice to hear you.  _

__ About the burning in side and panicking in his heart. 

__ Angry hot red pain rose up in him, the smell of seared flesh filled his nose and curled in his lungs. Joe moved away and warmed the knife up again. Vincent’s gasped a breath and the release, but a shape stinging hummed at the surface. His side throbbed. Everything was imaginary, except for the pain, that was real. And the music, it thumped away at his heartbeat. He wheezed, every moment was worse than the last. 

       The Joe pressed the knife to him again. His breathing quickened as blood rushes to the area and all he could feel was the burning. 

      He could feel his flesh burning around the red hot knife and he could do nothing. 

      Joe leaned in a mumbled in Vincent’s ear, “You belong to me.” 

      He felt further from human than he ever had. 


	24. Hi Handsome

“He wants me alone.” 

Everyone sat in the living room. Everyone except for Patrick, he was currently cuffed to the bathtub faucet, pillowcase over his head and zip ties around his feet. Looking up from his towel Enzo suddenly felt the room go stale. Roman sat like a stone next to him, Ritter with her hair in a benevolent bun, and Chris tapping the phone on his thigh. 

Christopher ran a finger over the mantel and then rubbed it against his thumb. There wasn’t any dust on the wood but it felt like there should have been. 

“That’s bullshit.” Ritter said. 

“What is?” Christopher replied.   
They were still all in their pajamas, except for Enzo and Roman who were in different pajamas. The bat was still in Ritter’s hands. Enzo’s hair was still wet. The sky was still dark. Vincent was still gone. 

“This!” Ritter exclaimed. “This whole goddamn thing!” 

Roman cut his eyes over to Enzo. The air between their gaze was heavy and meaningful. This was the first time in...well ever that Ritter seemed to be losing her grip. She was remarked as a collected, not this raw thing beside them.   
“You’re not going alone.” She finished, trying to push out as much as possible. She wasn’t mad, she was scared. “You’re not going alone.”

“Bug,” Chris said voice warm and thick. He took a step a reached out to Ritter. 

She jerked back.   
“Chrissy.”   
“No.” She took a moment to take a breath and closed her eyes. 

Feeling a bit awkward Enzo took Roman’s hand and tugged him up. “Let’s go find something to eat.” 

Ritter waited for them to leave. “Chris you know, best of all of us what he’s capable of. You know how he feels about you. You know, so don’t think for a goddamn second that you can go there alone.” 

“All the more reason to go. We all know what's going to happen-what’s _already_ happening while he stays there. Joe might ruin me but I can’t just watch him ruin Vince.” Chris’ chest rose and fell rapidly, with the beat of his heart. The pounding of his vice-like headache. He felt the urgency of Vincent squirming around in his bones.   
It reminded him of when Ritter was arrested. The frustration that welled up inside him as he sat on the hard wooden benches of the courthouse. Waiting. That’s when he’d taken up weight lifting classes, that’s when he’d gotten his sleeves of tattoos. That’s when he spotted an entire wall in his bedroom with paint. And effort to channel the restlessness that shook his insides. He could have scaled the walls now. He could have run four miles. He could have gotten a face tattoo. 

Well maybe not the last. 

Ritter saw this. The raw and wild panick filing her brother’s gaze. 

“I can’t live without knowing I tried to help him. Chrissy you don’t know the half of it-god.” He racked a hand through his hair and lowered himself onto the couch.  Looking up at his sister he tried to find words to explain it. “I don’t know why, but this isn’t like Ana, or Kate,” he made a helpless gesture, “he’s...he’s like- you know when you said that you could sit up at that spot on the ridge and just, sit. Like you would spend hours and hours staring and every time you blinked it would take your breath away when you opened your eyes again. He’s like that. God I can’t leave him Bug. I can’t let a thing like him go to waste.” 

His sister's mouth was drawn in a flat line. Her arms were crossed. And then she melted away into a laugh and sat down next to Chris. “He really fucked you up huh?” 

Chris laughed and soundless laugh. “I guess so.” With that Chris placed his hands into his hands and let out frustrated sigh. “Bug, I don’t want to go anymore than you want me to-” 

“I know.” 

 

-

 

Chris got dressed, grabbed Vince sweater and Ritter’s keys and then with help from Roman lead Patrick into the range rover. 

“Thank you.” Roman said through the car window. The entire rumbled. “And i'm sorry for everything I said. You’re the best person I could hope for for my brother.” 

Chris nodded at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the best brother he could have.”    


“See that’s where you’re wrong.” 

“No. You see it now. No one will blame you for what you did, you had your own problems.” 

And with that Roman stepped away and Chris pulled out, a body in his trunk. 

The roads were long and sleepy in the dark. His headlights spilled across the pavement, the dark blue sky stretched above him. His destination was deeper in the woods, at a closed church he saw on his way to see his parents. He’d suggested it after Joe mentioned he wanted a secluded place. Thinking of Patrick made him somewhat ashamed so instead he thought of the movies. 

He’d seen them all. He grew up on the old fuzzy films that dazzled his senses. The cliches were some of his favorite. And his favorite cliche was the reunion ones. Loves running across spanning green fields, the endless blue of sky above them, grass scratching their feet. 

And then he pulled into the Church parking lot. It was a small thing, good for a small building. The church was blue in the low light, the trees menacing shadows behind it and around it. It was more of a moss covered hall than anything else. 

It was not empty. Three cars sat parked, headlights pouring out in front of them. Chris held up a hand as he pulled in. He pulled off to the side and cut the engine.   
This was it. 

He got out. 

There was nothing in his hand, there was nothing in his pockets, there was a body in his trunk. He walked around the car. Light framed him, he faced the cars, alone in the early morning. Which car was Vincent in? 

Chris heard a door open, he couldn’t see much as his vision was flooded with blinding light. His heart thumped away. He wished he had a bat. 

Would Patrick be enough? 

Suddenly this struck him as an extremely dumb idea. Joe could take him, and Patrick and Vincent and never been seen again. And then what? Leave Ritter to go to juvie, Roman without a brother. Vincent would still be here- it was too late for that. 

A figure stepped in front of the light. By the silhouette he could tell it was male but other than that nothing. It stepped forwards. And then took another step. The light spilled around the man, marking him a dark spot in this sea of light. Chris squinted at it, trying to see. It kept getting closer. Slowly. 

Chris pulse jumped. He almost took a fearful step back but held his ground. Ritter was right. 

This was it. 

He was an idiot. 

Joe was going to take him, Chris could feel the prison falling around him already. He wouldn’t save anyone. Sharply he wished Ritter or someone else were here to come save Vincent at least. 

The figure lunged. 

It collided with him, his arms circling around Chris in a manner frightful at the moment. Chris struggled against Joe’s grip. It was suffocating. His breath had been knocked out of his chest so he had little to work with as he battled the stronghold Joe had on him. He prepared a goodbye in his head, an apology, a prayer to his sister.  And then it hit him. 

“Vincent?” He breathed. 

Vincent let out a wet sob against Chris’ shoulder. His arms were a vice around him.  “Christopher.” He said shakily. He was falling, slipping to the ground as he had trouble standing. 

Chris wound his hands through Vincent’s arms and squeezed back. Vincent. Every moment was better than the last. Resting his face in Vincent’s neck he breathed him in. 

Chris had seen the movies. Large wide shots of spanning green fields, horses abandoned at the edge of these meadows, tall grass scratching your ankles. The sun above. The voice of your loved one as you ran towards each other. He’d seen them and he knew that this wasn’t it. 

They never had bodies tied up in their living room. They never involved black SUVs full of broken bodies. They never involved a man gripping the kitchen knife so hard it shook. Or his sister tapping a bat in her palm. Or two boys one tall and dark, the other his bright hair stringy and wet clinging on to each other on the bathroom floor. 

Chris pulled Vincent back. Cupping his face in his hands he looked at him. It was really him. His face dark in the back light, but there. And he thought, that maybe all these movies he’d seen were wrong. Maybe they ought to have SUVs and ransoms and bodies tied up in your bathtubs because when Vincent smiled through his wet cheeks and said, “Hi handsome.” everything felt right. 

Chris felt his heart burst a little. All the seams along his chest split. “Hi.” Chris ran his hands down Vincent’s neck and then curled his fingers around the back of his neck, “Are you alright?” 

Vincent shook his head. “Not yet.” 

“What happened?” 

Chris never got that answer. Because someone  cut the headlights and stepped out. Chris blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Now he saw how bruised Vincent’s face was. The bags under his eyes made everything worse. Vincent turned in Chris’ arms to cast a withering glance over to Joe as he strode over. He wasn’t too far, but didn’t get too close. 

He spread his arms at the two and then clapped. “Look, the love birds are back together.” 

Chris would watch him burn.  
“Where's the bastard?” Joe asked, obviously about Patrick. 

Chris couldn’t help himself. “I’m looking at him.” Vincent took a step to stand next to Chris. He took Chris’s hand. Chris’ heart was fluttering around at their joined skin. 

Laughing Joe made a show of his amusement. “Good one Ritter, but i'm serious, where is Abbott?” He was wearing a pair of slacks and low buttoned shirt. His hair was ruffled and messy, eyes tried at they met Chris’. 

Chris jerked his head to the car. 

Joe cast his eyes over to it. “Keys.” 

Rifling through his pockets Chris found the keys and chucked them at Joe. Joe went to unlock the back. Men then started to file out of the cars, Chris took a step back at the sight, tugging Vincent along with him. Vincent made a sick sound when Joe got the trunk open. “How did you do it?” He asked softly.    


Their eyes met again and Chris lost his train of thought. How had they done this? “What did he do?” Vincent could learn later of what had happened while he was gone, but now, now Chris was burning up with hate. He thought of Roman briefly. The intense and blinding rage that filled him when he thought of his brother.

“It doesn’t matter.” Vincent said with his eyes low.   
Chris reached up and ran a thumb over his cheek. “It does. I’m going to see him hang.” 

“I guess this is goodbye.” 

Both of them looked up to see Joe standing in front of them, hands in his pockets. Behind him men dragged Patrick’s limp body over to the far car. Vincent watched them leave. “Chris who is that?” His voice was haunted. “Christopher what did you do?” 

Chris pulled on Vincent’s hand, to bring him back. The man’s eyes cut to him, worried mad. “That is Patrick Abbott.”

Joe chuckled. “See Vincent, everything is fine. There was no reason to flip out.” 

“Fuck you.” Vincent spit.   
“What are you talking about?” Chris asked, “What happened?” 

Turning back sharply to him Vincent said, “Joe called Patrick last night. I don’t know what they talked about but I was so worried. Is everyone okay?” 

“H-he what?” This was hushed, more for Chris than anything else. “Yeah, everyone is okay. He broke into the house. He shoved me and Chrissy into the attic and then tried to drown Enzo, and then tried to kill him. Ritter picked the lock and knocked him out.” 

“Drug him?” 

Joe snapped to get their attention. He was getting frustrated. “None of that matters.” He took a long deep breath. Vincent shivered. “Now, goodbye Palayo. It was a nice run wasn’t it?” He said this seriously. Genuine. Chris wanted to ring his neck. 

Vincent couldn’t find his words. 

“Just remember who you belong to.” He said. 

Joe turned to leave. He made it a few steps and then turned back. 

“We’ll be in touch.” 

Vincent stopped Chris with a hand to his chest. “Don’t. I need to go home.” His face was bruised and battered, and Chris was burning inside. He thought of that drawing he’d done, the night they watched Princess Bride together. When Chris repeated those famous lines because he knew Vincent would steal a glance at him when he did. When he drew that damn drawing because he wanted to study Vincent’s face. When he Vincent got lost by the minutes and there was a memory of a smile of his face. Those glorious moments and he hated Joe. Because now Vincent had a split lip and bruises all down his neck and collarbone. 

But then he thought of Roman. Anger was a useless feeling. He’d learned that a lot in his life. He stomped out the spark, took Vincent’s hand and lead him to the car. “Let’s go home.” 

Vincent climbed into the passenger seat, unsteady and struggling. Chris helped him buckle his seat belt. Vincent caught his gaze. “Christopher.” He said, trailing his fingers down Chris’ neck. He said it less like an attempt to get his attention and more like he was trying to let the fact that he was home real. Chris closed his eyes. 

He wished for this forever.    


Vincent leaned down and kissed him. Sure and deep, hands on his face and neck, and Chris propping himself up on the space between Vincent’s legs. 

Vincent was was a sigh. When you fell into bed after a particularly long day and the comforter practically swallowed you. And then your eyes fell closed and there was nothing but a promise of sweet dreams and the dusty light of morning.

That what he was. 

It was knitted into his hair. Bred under his skin. It was laced in the slide of his lips and 

the spread of the smiles Chris had to weed out of him. It was whispered in his laugh. It was the golden fleck of his eyes.  
He was something to come home to. Someone to grab and hold and swing around in the kitchen. He was the ridge during sunset. 

And as they kissed Chris felt his heart unfold to it all. Because the world had been beautiful before but now with Vincent’s hands in his hair and lips on his it positively pulchritudinous. 


	25. The End

Joe stood in the well lit office of his father. Eli Cooper sat at his desk, leaning forward on his hands and Patrick Abbott in front of him. 

Joe felt himself die inside. 

“Joe you took it upon yourself to harass and old employee and then kidnapped the man running 

the very circle were trying to avoid a war with. What the fuck went through your pea sized brain?” Eli didn’t wait for his son’s answer. “You are such a-” he slammed his fist into the table. “God. Are you trying to get us all killed!” 

“No i just-” 

“Look I don't want to hear it. Just kill him.” 

Patrick gasped and stumbled back from the desk. “You can’t they’ll come for you. Just let me go and i’ll forget about it.” 

A gun was pressed into Joe’s hand.    


Patrick cried out as two men came up behind him and rolled out a big white tarp. He swung wildly at the men around him, but he was too weak to put up much of a fight. Finally they pushed him down onto his knees. Sadness bloomed inside Joe, bigger and worse than he’d ever felt before. He was truly alone in this world. Joe pressed the gun to Patrick’s head and thought of nothing else but that. Nothing but the sweet release he got from theses things, taking people apart. That was how you got things in life. He just hadn’t found anyone with what he wanted yet. 

“No Patrick they won't,” Eli said, “they don’t want you anymore.” 

The shot rang out. 

Patrick slumped, brain matter splattered everywhere, sprayed across Joe’s face and chest and shoe. He wiped down the gun and handed it back to the man it came from. 

Quickly the men rolled the tarp up and dragged the bloody mess from the room. 

Everyone was quiet as Joe returned to his father’s desk. “I did what you have asked of me. It was a mistake and I’m sorry.” 

“That won’t cover it this time Joe, and we both know it.” Eli said. 

Everything in Joe sank, drenched in fear and slick with sweat. He held out his hands, ready for the burning or the slashing his father had ready. He was used to this, what was one more? 

“No.” Eli said and Joe felt his heart in his feet. “That won't cover it either.” 

Behind him the same men that had carried Patrick away strode in. Behind them, a white tarp. 

Eli stood and came around the desk. “You cost me everything.”   
“No.” Was all Joe could manage. “No.” 

Eli smiled and then shoved Joe back. Joe tumbled and tripped on the lip of the plastic, suddenly he was falling and couldn't catch himself. He was crying. His head kissed the hard floor and elbow stung with the impact of falling on it. 

Standing above him Eli took a gun from on of the men. 

Joe stared down the barrel of it. “I’ll do anything. Please don’t. I’m your son you can’t do this to me.” 

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Countless lives, dreams, and futures had been lost to this mess of a man on the floor. And his tears were real and genuine, they always had been, but his cruelty had been too. This wasn’t enough, but it was a slice of what he deserved. 

Eli pulled the trigger. 

Later that night, two men drove out into the Clarkston hills. They came to a long driveway, and then at the end of that driveway they came to a large white house. There were many cars parked in the driveway. 

It was dark but the lights were on, and as the two men stepped up to the door music could be heard pouring from the inside.  The first man knocked. 

It took a few seconds but someone finally opened the door. It was a tall dark haired man, he was wearing a blue sweater and slacks. His feet were bare and his mouth was open in a wide smile. “How can I help-” He cut off, his mouth turned to a frown. 

“Joe Cooper is dead.”   
The man said nothing. The door hung open, light poured out, music played. Voices rose in gallant laughter. A banner hung on the mantle said, “Merry Christmas!” never-mind that it was almost march. 

“Vince baby who is it?” A voice said behind the man. 

“Just the neighbors!” The man called back, thought his expression looked nothing like it and his yes never left the two men at the door. “What happened?” He finally asked.   
“He was deemed a threat to the cartel.” The second man said. 

“Why are you here then?” 

“Eli wanted us to deliver the message, he was aware of what Joe did here and wanted to send a formal apology to you and your family.” The first said, and held out a chunky envelope. 

Vincent tore into it. Inside there were bills. Many large one at that. Vincent’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What is this for.” 

“Like we said, it his a formal apology. Mr. Cooper hopes that you will still hope you will hold up your end of the agreement, as it is important for your relationship with us.” 

Vincent swallowed and nodded, “yeah. Yeah.” And then he pressed his mouth closed. “What happened to Patrick?” 

“He won't be bothering you anymore.” 

“Okay.” 

“Happy holidays Mr Palayo.” The men turned and left. Vincent closed the envelope and returned to his party. 

When he joined Chris on the couch he asked, “What was that all about?” 

Vincent watched as Enzo tried to teach Chris’ mom how to play the guitar by the fire. And Roman’s smile caught his gaze. Cousins and aunts, and great nieces ran around the room, and danced in the kitchen. The music was loud. “Joe and Patrick Abbott are dead.” He said just loud enough for Chris to hear. 

There were a series of complicated expressions that passed over his face and Vincent couldn’t tell if any of them were good ones. Then he brushed his nose against Vincent’s and said, “Are you okay?” 

“I-” Vincent took a deep breath and tried to find his words. He felt bad about the truth, the truth was that he felt happy, Joe had just died and he felt happy about it. He felt like a humanity less monster. 

“It’s alright.” Chris said, hand on his leg.   
Vincent heaved a breath. “I’ve never been better.”   
Chris smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “How does your tattoo feel?” 

Obligingly Vincent hiked up the side of his shirt. “Sore”   
Chris ducked down to look at it. “It looks good.” On his side, where his flesh was a little welted and bubbled from the burns was black ink that stretched across his skin. 

“MOM!” Ritter yelped. “Chris is taking Vincent’s shirt off!” 

“Christopher, please.” 

Vincent burst out in a laugh as Chris made a wounded face and then flipped his sister off. “I’m just doing my job. No that sounded wrong. I just checking his tattoo out god-damn it.” Chris said through a smile. The whole room was howling with laughter. Vincent pulled his shirt back down and relaxed against the couch and Chris. 

Enzo shouted, “Let’s open presents now!” 

  
  


-

Roman had fought with his brother many times. More than he could count. 

The parking lot was mostly empty in the early morning light. Dew clung to the grass and fog framed the far off trees and headstones. It was one of those wide open mornings. When birds sat in their trees, singing their songs. And the air was crisp in your lungs. 

Vincent sat on the hood of his car, coat tugged around him and head low. 

Roman watched his brother with careful eyes. “You ready?” 

Vincent looked up, “Yeah.” He fixed his jacket and stood. 

They made their way up the curb and then into the stretching field, through the green 

grass. They were never here. Mountain ridge was a long way from Clarkston, and while the brothers had lived here Vincent had been to busy to ever take Roman, and their dad had been too broken to do it. The brother had nothing to say as they walked. It was just the sound of their shoes in the damp grass and their breathing. 

Casting his eyes ahead Vincent made his way through the headstones. His eyes traced everything. The sky the trees the words carved onto the stones. Dressed in  jackets and dark hair the brothers looked identical. Anyone would know they were blood. Down to their noses, and their smiles their looks were shared. Vincent’s face was a bit narrower, as were his shoulders, but that didn't matter. 

They had taken a road trip down here. It was spring break, and Roman had approached Vincent nervously about it. Their parents were still a touchy subject, mostly for Roman, but they were getting better. 

Both Elizabeth and David were buried here.   
Roman’s heart squeezed at the thought. God how he missed them. His father’s warm humor, his mother's electric laugh. Growing up the Palayo household had been a happy place. And then Elizabeth had died, and then Vincent started selling drugs, and then David killed himself, and then Vincent shipped Roman off and Roman forgot what it meant to love his brother. Roman felt shame every time he thought of those years. Those fights. He was getting better, he knew that that anger had been apart of him and he hadn’t been able to see through the billowess clouds. 

They came to the grave. 

With his hands in his pockets Vincent stopped in front of them. Twin headstones, side 

by side. His brown eyes watched, Roman watched Vincent.   

All these days. Roman had spit in his brothers face, had cursed him, had banished him to California and pushed him away. He felt lucky now, thankful, that Vincent had been good enough to forgive him. Because now he could see it plain as day. The pain on Vincent’s face as he looked at his mother and father. 

Roman looked at the ground.   
They were standing shoulder to shoulder. 

“Vincent I’m sorry.” It was hard to say, out of habit and strange on his tongue. 

His brother looked to him, eyes a little shine. “Rome…” He trailed off. 

“No. I treated you like shit. You threw everything away and I acted like you did nothing for me.” 

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t do what I should of. I shouldn’t have sent you away, I shouldn’t have listened to Joe.” 

The words hung in the air. Between them the words lingered. No tension, just forgiveness. It went unspoken but they both understood. 

Vincent turned back to the grave knelt down and touched the grass under his fingers. His shoulders buckled and he let out a small whimper. Roman put his hands in his pockets and watched as his brother fell apart in front of the headstones. He had cried many times about this. Face smashed into his pillow and forehead propped against the shower. But he thought, as Vincent hid his head in his elbow and cried that maybe Vincent never had. Maybe Roman had denied this of him. 

He felt it sting him. 

But it was different now. Roman placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. Vincent stood up abruptly. Roman didn’t have time to react before Vincent swallowed him in a fierce embrace. Face buried in his shoulder and hand tight around as he sobbed. Roman felt his brother’s body heave against him. And then Roman hugged him back and cried too. 

Because he finally had his brother back, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this until he had it again. And he was scared, because he had almost lost it.   
And he was wrong. 

This was the first time the brothers had hugged in four years. Four years and they hadn’t done anything like this, and they both missed it so much. 

“I missed you.” Vincent said against Roman and through his tears. 

“I missed you too.” 

The Palayo brothers had fought countless of times. More than either of them could count. But that didn’t matter anymore, because they both loved each other, and that would never change. 


End file.
